


Playing in the Mud

by bracus09



Series: SEAL Team Week 2020 [4]
Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Gen, India, Injury, Mud, Rain, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:14:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22269229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bracus09/pseuds/bracus09
Summary: Rainy season + house on a hillside = trouble for two of the quietest members of Bravo
Series: SEAL Team Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599607
Comments: 34
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day 4: Trent or Team Bonding  
> Day 5: Brock or episode fix
> 
> So, I couldn't do one fic for Trent and one fic for Brock, so I made an extra long fic that stars both of them.
> 
> Enjoy!

Bravo team was hanging around the briefing table, wondering where the good idea fairies were sending them this time. Just as Sonny was about start complaining, well start complaining more, Lisa, Mandy and Eric came into the briefing room.

“Gentlemen, we will be on our way to Saichen Glacier.” Blackburn started bringing up a map of Asia.

“And why do we get to go to India?” Jason asked, looking at the map.

“Well, maybe Pakistan.” Clay quipped. “Who says they have control today?”

“I’m just wondering if it’s going to be cold. It has the word glacier in the name.” Sonny pointed at the map.

“Luckily for you, it’s rainy season. So, it’s going to be warmer than freezing at least. Unfortunately for you, everyone will have to be cautious during this mission because it is the rainy season this time of year, so there is a higher chance of mudslides in the area.” Lisa said, handing out the brief folders.

“Is it too late to request vacation? I do not need a mud facial.” Sonny muttered and turned to look at Blackburn.

Blackburn gave him a stone-faced look at his joke and Ray slapped the back of his head as he made his way to his seat.

“We will be working with India’s Defense Intelligence Agency, but Bravo will have the lead. We will be going to the Saichen Glacier to retrieve a possible new asset for the DIA and the US’s CIA.” Mandy explained as she docked a laptop to start bringing up pictures on the bigger screen.

“Who’s this ‘possible’ new asset?” Jason asked, already a little bit suspicious of the mission.

“The possible asset is a 63-year-old man by the name of Gurman Brar. Born in the Jammu and Kashmir Union Territory. His family moved when he was 14 to the area just below the Saichen Glacier and created a ‘hostel-like’ building that house any Chinese, Pakistani or Indian individual that was traveling between countries. India wants him for any intel he may have on Pakistan or China, and he is a gold mine of intel from three different countries for the US.” Mandy explained.

“Okay, why now after all these years, does he want to become an asset?” Clay questioned.

Instead of answering Clay’s question, Lisa questioned the group, “How many of you are familiar with the Line of Control for the area?”

Ray, Jason and Clay each raised a hand with a shaky motion, meaning they know of it, but not familiar. Trent, Brock and Sonny just gave her a blank look. 

“Okay, history lesson boys.” Lisa said as she pulled up a timeline to better help the guys follow.

“The area in question is often called the Kashmir Conflict, mainly between India and Pakistan with a little bit of China thrown in. The first war started in 1947 and has escalated into three wars between India and Pakistan with several other armed skirmishes. In 1963, China got their portion of the area settled with Pakistan but not India. There have been multiple cease-fires through the UN but not many lasted except for the Line of Control. There were two more wars in 1965 and 1971 which further established Line of Control Lines between the two nations’-controlled territories. Since 1989, the skirmishes are mainly involved in the Kashmir Valley, which is north of the Saichen Glacier. There were more skirmishes in 2010 and 2016 because of belief there was Al-Qaeda involvement in the Pakistan Line of Control territory. The latest unrest of the area was in February 2019 when a Kashmir separatist terrorist group claimed responsibility for a suicide bomb attack on a military convoy that killed over 40 Indian soldiers. In retaliation, 12 Indian fighter jets dropped bombs on a “terrorist camp” in Pakistan-controlled territory, killing a reported 350 terrorist members. Because India trespassed into Pakistan air space, they are currently in a standoff.” Lisa finished her explanation for the group.

Sonny leaned his head down and started to lightly hitting his head on the table. “My head hurts. That’s so confusing. Just make a line and stick to it.”

“Not quite that simple,” Mandy replied. “The reason why India wants Gurman Brar is that he lived in the contested area since 1972. He and his wife have been witness to all of these skirmishes since he was a teenager. Their hostel-hotel has housed many individuals from all three borders, so he will know more information of the comings and goings of both militaries, and any Al-Qaeda involvements.”

“Again, why now?” Clay asked. “If he stayed there for this many years, why does he want to become an asset?”

“His wife, Rajani, just died last month. Brar is of Hindu faith, so he sides with India over Pakistan’s Muslim faith. He sent message through a messenger that got to India’s DIA last time they were in the area that he had information on Pakistan and China, but mainly Pakistan.” Lisa explained for Mandy.

“Why have Bravo go to the area and not India DIA?” Ray questioned. “They have the troops and the resources.”

“Because of the 2019 standoff, neither military can be seen in the area. Short of a humanitarian crisis, neither side can be seen, or it could be considered an act of aggression and it will no longer be a standoff.” Blackburn stated.

“So, India contacted the US to get their hands on this guy?” Sonny piped up with his question.

“Yep. You guys will be flying to India to complete the mission.” Blackburn stated.

“You said that neither side can be seen. Are there armed forces on the Line of Control?” Clay asked as he stood up and looked at the map that showed where the Line of Control was.

“Siachen Glacier is the world’s highest battleground and where the Line of Control separating Indian and Pakistani Kashmir passes through. Even with their military personnel, it is infeasible to place enough men to guard all sections of the border throughout the various seasons of the year. Pakistan is in the same boat. So, while the Glacier should have no armed forces, there is still a possibility.” Mandy explained part of the reason why they were going and not Indian forces.

“Alright men make your calls home and pack a bag. We will be in the air in two hours.” Blackburn said as he gathered his folders, and the others followed his lead and heading toward their cages.

***

Brock stood in the doorway of the warehouse that was their current mobile operations center. Sheets of rain thrashed the metal roof, making it sound like thousands of ping pong balls had been unleashed from the sky. He dared to stick his head out and tried to see if the rain would stop anytime soon, but the clouds looked a deep, dark gray and didn’t have any plans of stopping soon. 

He pulled his head back in and headed to the tables set up with all their equipment and laptops.

"Hey, Brock, you look like a drowned rat." Sonny piped up, looking at his doused curls.

Brock gave Sonny's arm a playful punch as he passed him, and tossed his standard, "Shut up, Sonny," to the man.

Brock sat down at the table, about the same time as Ray and Trent came walking in. He greeted them as they headed for the table too. Clay was working on cleaning a gun as everyone was waiting for the green light.

"Man, is it ever gonna stop raining?" Sonny was complaining, listening to the rain hit the roof and windows.

"Davis is hoping so." Jason stated, knowing that too much rain will push the op back.

Brock looked at his teammates while looking through a few files on the table, depressed that Cerberus couldn’t come with them. There was very little chance of explosive ordinance, so it was decided that he would stay in the US. 

"Whatta ya' mean Lisa hopes so?" Sonny questioned, not liking that answer.

"We need to get going to the glacier. With all this rain we've been having we couldn't go yesterday. We finally loaded the truck we are using to transport the asset, but the Indian Military might not let us go because of the mudslide danger. We can’t chopper up because of the elevation, so it’s going to be a slow truck ride for us. If we can’t get the op green lit soon, I’m pretty sure Lisa is going to make us walk all the way up."

Clay laughed. "Evil woman, how did we get her as our intel officer."

"She is only evil some of the time," Sonny agreed. "But we got the best intel officer in the US."

"Sonny, your biased for how long you’ve known her." Trent piped up.

Blackburn glanced at his watch to see that it was ten minutes to eight. "Alright, let’s load up."

"There's been a couple bad mud slides about a few miles above the asset’s location," Ray commented while everyone grabbed their kits. Everyone was dressed in black tactical pants and black heavy jackets with thick, winter boots. "Mandy has reports that Indian Military has started to evacuate some residents in the area but is leaving a wide berth for us to retrieve the asset."

"Can we get a thermos of coffee to go?" Sonny groused, grabbing his kit and heading for the door.

"Yeah, or at least hot chocolate," Trent mumbled, hoping into the driver’s seat of the truck he was going to drive up to the asset’s home to retrieve the man.

Bravo team pulled out of the warehouse and into the driving rain to begin the about two hour drive up to just below the glacier. Everyone was hoping that it would be an easy drive up, retrieve the asset and his few belongings, and drive back to the warehouse where Indian DIA and the CIA can take over. Bravo team was so over the rain and wanted to get back home.

The hostel hotel was a modest building, looking more like a regular house, and was perched halfway down the side of a steep hill. Thirty minutes earlier, however, it had been at the top of the hill, according to the photos that Command had provided to them. And therein lay the problem. Except for an ominous crack up the south wall, the little hostel house was surprisingly intact. It appeared to have simply washed off its foundation and slid fifty yards down the bank. But it tilted drunkenly on the muddy slope and it was only a matter of time before it slipped further down.

"Havoc, the asset’s house is just beginning to slide down the hill it was perched on. Hopefully the asset is still here," Jason informed them.

“Good thing we brought climbing harnesses,” Ray said as everyone hopped out of the truck.

"Of course, the house is sliding down a hill," Sonny sighed as he began buckling himself into a safety harness.

Clay, Brock and Trent attached the last of the safety lines to the crate they were going to store Gurman Brar’s belongings and gave it a hard tug. "Good to go, Boss!" Trent shouted.

Sonny, Clay, Brock and Trent all went down the hillside to the house to get the asset and his belongings, with Jason and Ray staying up top to monitor the safety lines.

Once they got down to the house, Sonny cleared shouted at the house, “Gurman Brar, we are here to bring you to safety.”

Soon, they saw an elderly old man come to the door closest to the top of the house. “Please help me.”

“Sir, come out of the house.” Clay said, reaching for Gurman. Gurman stepped outside and grabbed Clay’s hand to bring him even with the SEALs.

“Where are your bags?” Trent asked, wanting to get off this mud pie of a mountain side.

“They are inside the door.” Gurman said, keeping a firm grip on Clay.

“Bravo 1, this is Bravo 3. We have the asset. Bravo 6 and I will be helping him up the hillside.” Sonny said into his comms.

“Good copy, Bravo 3.” Jason said into his comms, watching his team down the hillside, keeping an eye on their safety lines. “Havoc, we have jackpot. Bravo 3 and 6 will be helping him to the truck. Bravo 4 and 5 will get his belongs.”

“Bravo 1, good copy.” Blackburn’s voice came through the radio. 

Down the hillside, Clay and Sonny helped the man getting secured between them.

"Oh, please, can't you find my cat?" Brar clutched at Brock's hand, almost in tears as Sonny and Clay started ushering him up the hill, towards the truck. "I know she's under the bed. That's where she hides when she's afraid. She’s one of the last things I have of my wife."

"I'm sorry, sir but we need to get you out of here and it's just not safe to go back into the house. But, hey, animals are smart. I bet she'll find her own way out." Brock tried, while Trent loaded the container of his belongings.

"She's old," Brar sobbed, "and she doesn't see well. Oh, please… Please..."

Brock glanced helplessly at Trent who gave him a fierce look and shook his head no.

"Five minutes?" Brock pleaded, the animal-lover in him coming out. "I did see the cat run under the bed."

"Jason will have your hide," Trent warned, as he tugged the ropes for Jason and Ray to pull the container up with Gurman’s belongings. He could see that Sonny and Clay had reached the top and already had Gurman inside the truck. Jason and Ray would pull the container with the belongings up and then they would be next.

"Won't be the first time." Brock said.

Trent struggled up the slick incline after them, Brock turned and started back down.

"Bravo 5, where the hell are you going?" Jason shouted into the comms.

"There's another belonging I need to grab," Brock stated through the comms.

"Another…" Jason glanced at Trent in confusion. "Trent, what the hell is he talking about?"

"The cat…" Trent tried to say gently.

"THE CAT!!" Jason's roar of outrage drowned out the remainder of Trent's words. "BRAVO 5, you get your ass back up here right now!"

But it was too late. The slender, mud covered form slipped through the front door of the house and disappeared inside the house.

Jason was white faced with fury. "Trent, you're with me," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Let's go down there and get…" the rest of the sentence died on his lips as the house groaned and slipped another fifteen feet down the slope. When it came to rest, the crack in the south wall, which was now the west wall, had grown larger and the roof line was beginning to sag.

The two men scrambled into their safety harnesses and made their way down the treacherous slope.

"How's he doing?" Ray asked, looking at Clay.

Clay looked at Gurman in the back of the truck. "He's doing okay, Ray. Some cuts and bruises from the tumble but he's gonna be fine. Any sign of 'em?"

Ray shook his head.

"How long they been in there?" Clay asked.

"Five minutes," Sonny supplied.

"Seems longer." Clay commented.

"Yeah." Ray said, keeping his eyes peeled down the hill.

As if on cue, Jason appeared in the doorway with a bedraggled Himalayan cat in his arms. He glanced up at his worried teammates on the hilltop and flashed them a thumbs up.

The three men breathed a collective sigh of relief. Brock was okay... until Boss got him back to the States, that is. They could foresee many hills in Brock’s future. Sonny went to help Ray man the safety lines and Clay turned back to their asset and made sure everything was secured in the truck.

Jason tucked the cat into the front of his tactical jacket and was reaching for the safety line when it happened. A huge chunk of waterlogged earth broke loose and hurtled down the hill. Jason disappeared, and the house was carried down the steep embankment, becoming completely engulfed in mud when it hit bottom.

There was a moment of stunned silence and then Ray was on the radio calling for assistance. "Havoc, this is Bravo 2. We have three injuries at our location. I repeat we have three injured. We need an additional military assistance and med evac to our location. The house has finished completing its trip down the hill." Without waiting for an answer and reached for a safety harness. He paused when he noticed Sonny and Clay doing the same.

"Clay, what are you doing?" Ray asked.

Clay glanced up sharply. "What do you mean? I'm going down…"

"We can't all go down there. Someone must stay topside. You need to stay up here with the asset."

"Ray, he's fine. There are no Pakistani forces around." Clay continued buckling the harness into place. "We have injured brothers down there and I…"

"No, Clay," Ray lay a restraining hand on his youngest teammate’s arm. "We can't get to Trent and Brock until help arrives. Sonny and I are going to look for Jason in the meantime and you're going to stay here with the asset."

Clay shook Ray's hand off. "You have no right…," he began furiously.

"I have every right." Ray cut him off, his voice soft as always but with a thread of steel running through it. "With Jason missing, I'm in charge of this mission until Jason is found or Blackburn gets here. And I'm ordering you to take care of the asset."

"Damn it, Ray…" Clay said through clenched teeth.

"Clay, you know I'm right." Ray said calmly.

And deep down, Clay did know. He nodded stiffly, tugged off the safety harness and returned to the asset sitting in the truck.

"Will they be all right?" the elderly man asked worriedly.

"I hope so," Clay turned to watch as Sonny and Ray made their way cautiously down the hillside. "I sure hope so."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One found, two still lost.

It all had happened so fast; and with no warning. Brock had been following Trent through the bedroom door, when suddenly all hell had broken loose.

He hadn't even felt them falling. His first indication that something was wrong was when Trent fell backward on top of him. What had been the floor became the wall, and they were sliding down it, rolling around the old man's bedroom like rocks in a tumbler.

When the movement ended, Brock found himself folded awkwardly around something; a piece of furniture, he thought, but he wasn't sure. He had no idea which way was up. The building was emitting a symphony of ominous creaks and groans, and Brock knew they had to get out, and fast.

He tried to push himself up, and for the first time realized there was something on top of his back. It was soft, and for a moment he wondered if it was Trent. But he felt behind himself and found that it was the mattress off the man's double bed. He managed to push it off, the effort making him aware of the many aches and pains throughout his body. But he got free, and stood, scrabbling for purchase among the man's left-over possessions, which were piled against what had been the east wall of the room. The house was on its side.

"Trent?" he asked tentatively while taking a mental inventory of his body. His left side hurt like hell, his left knee was sore, and he knew he was going to be covered in bumps and bruises. But it didn't look like anything was broken.

Silence met his voice, so he asked again. "Trent? Where are ya, Bravo 4?"

Brock looked around and didn't see his brother. He knew what had happened; knew that another mudslide had knocked the house down to the bottom of this hill. The east-facing windows were now flat on the ground, and the ones facing north had to be up against the hillside--they were broken, but the mud was oozing in at a slow pace. It was pure luck that he was still alive. If the house had settled in any other orientation, they'd have been buried in a sea of mud for sure.

A groan from somewhere behind and beneath him caught the dog-handler's attention.

"Trent? Talk to me, brother, help me find you." Brock said, trying to get Trent to speak up.

"Brock?" Trent's voice was muffled and faint.

"It's me, Trent. Where are you? Keep talking so I can find you. You hurt?" Brock asked.

"I'm…" Trent paused. "I don't know where I am, Brock. I'm pinned under something."

Brock followed the voice, deciding that his brother was in the far corner, where the man's enormous armoire had landed. Shit.

"Can you move at all, Trent? Are you hurt?" Brock questioned.

"Can't move much, Brock. And everything hurts. Not sure how bad, though. How 'bout you?" Trent responded.

Brock was pulling away debris, making his way toward the voice. "I'm okay, Trent. A little banged up, that's all."

"Yeah," he heard Trent breathe out. "Me too."

Brock pushed aside an overstuffed armchair, and finally caught sight of Trent. He was flat on his back and looking up at his brother; about six feet below Brocks's perch on the top of the mountain that had been the man's belongings. Trent's torso and arms were covered in books and a bookcase, and the armoire looked to be on top of his feet. He reached down and started to pull the books away, grimacing when a sharp pain shot through his right shoulder.

"What?" Trent asked as he watched his brother's actions.

"It's okay, Trent," Brock promised. "Just a little stiff. Why'd he have to have so many books?" he asked as he continued to move them out of the way.

"You take it easy," Trent admonished.

Brock smiled and let out a breath of laughter. "Yes, sir," he said.

He finally cleared everything off his man except the heavy piece of furniture. Trent looked like he was developing one hell of a black eye, and he was bleeding from somewhere. Brock could see blood on the right side of his jacket.

"You're bleeding somewhere, brother," he told Trent. "You know where?"

Trent moved his right arm and grimaced. He glanced at the inner part of it before settling it back against his side protectively. "It's my arm, Brock," he said. "Doesn't look too bad."

Brock nodded, not quite believing his teammate. "How about your neck and back? They okay? Can you move?"

"Playing medic on me, Bravo 5?" Trent asked with a slight smile.

"All these years, you don't think I picked up a thing or two?" Brock joked back.

"Guess so," Trent agreed. "I think I'm okay, though."

"Are you pinned under that thing?" Brock asked, gesturing toward the armoire. "Or can I help you out of there?"

Trent tried to shift his feet and cried out in pain. His breathing became rapid and shallow as he rode the wave out. After a minute, he tried to speak. "I can only move them a little bit," he said. "And my left ankle's killing me. I think it's broken."

Brock studied the furniture, trying to figure out how best to help Trent. From his position above his brother, it made it very difficult. He had no leverage whatsoever. But he had to get Trent out.

"Okay, If I come down there and stand next to you, do you think you can pull yourself out if I lift that thing up a little?" Brock asked.

Trent looked at the heavy wooden object dubiously. "Think you can?" he asked.

"Only one way to find out." Brock replied.

Brock carefully lowered himself until he was standing over and straddling the trapped man. He reached behind Trent and cleared an area so Trent would have somewhere to go when he pulled himself out. Trent pulled himself up on his elbows, biting back the pain in his arm. He knew what he had to do, and he wanted to get it done on the first try.

Brock finished clearing the space and turned around to face the armoire. He looked up at the other stuff in a pile all around them and decided that he could move the piece a bit without upsetting the precarious balance.

"Ready when you are, brother," he said, bending down at the knees and firmly gripping the bottom corner of the cabinet.

Trent arranged himself so he had the best leverage possible. He planned to pull his right leg out first and use it to slide his body backward.

"Ready when you are." Trent said, taking a breath to ready himself to move.

Brock started to lift and willed himself to ignore the protesting pain in his body, especially his knee. He felt the armoire start to move upward, and then felt the movement of his brother beneath him. But he kept lifting until he was sure the man was free.

"Agggghhhhh!" Trent screamed in pain as he scrambled backward. His legs came free, and he fell onto his back, struggling to deal with the excruciating pain. "I'm out, I'm out," he managed to cry out.

Brock dropped the cabinet with a thud. But before he could stand, something hit him in the back. It didn't hurt; it wasn't heavy. He pushed it up and stood to find that the door to the armoire had fallen open, and its contents, consisting of old bedding that reeked of mothballs, had fallen out and all over Trent.

Brock tossed the stuff aside to get to Trent; when he found him, his brother was pale and sweating and panting with pain, and Brock wasn't even sure he was conscious. "Trent?"

***

Clay watched them as they reached Jason's last known location. Even though faith was more Ray’s department, he said a silent prayer for his missing brothers. The two men stopped where the house once stood. Ray searched the hillside for signs of their lost brother.

"That was the last place I saw him, before the hillside gave way," Sonny said and pointed toward what remained of the front porch.

They saw no sign of him or the cat and continued toward where the little house now rested. The two called out in the hope that he was nearby and could hear them.

"Jason? Bravo 1, can you hear me?" shouted an anxious Ray.

"Jason! Hey, Bossman! Can you hear us? Where are you?" called out Sonny.

They received no answer as they continued their descent. Thirty feet further down the slope Sonny stopped Ray with a shout.

"Look! I think I see a boot over there. It has to be him!" Sonny pointed out excitedly.

Ray said, "C'mon. Let's find out."

They hurried toward what they hoped was their missing brother. It was rough going in the mud. Every step forward was met with at least one backward. By the time they reached their destination both SEALs were covered in mud.

Sonny dropped down and started to dig around the boot.

"Ray! It's him. C'mon give me a hand, hurry!" Sonny hurriedly started to dig more urgently.

Ray started digging. They soon had unearthed the mud-covered figure. Jason was lying face down, chin tucked to his chest to protect his face. His arms were around his chest.

"Jason! Can you hear me? Bravo 1?!" shouted Sonny.

Slowly the man moved a little. He sucked in a deep breath and let out a loud groan.

Meanwhile, Ray called Clay on the comms to notify him that Jason had been found and that they may need help getting him up the hill. Clay gathered the rescue basket and with the help of the Indian Army, who had arrived on the scene, he sent it down to the men below before returning to the asset. 

"Jason? We're gonna get you out of here okay. Try not to move. Just let us do all the work," said Ray as he and Sonny prepared Jason for the journey up the hill. Jason was stunned and kept trying to put his hands to his chest.

"Easy brother. We'll have you topside in no time and medics can have a look at you." Jason moaned in response and they started toward the top.

Commander Prabhu from the Indian Army walked over to where Clay was on comms to Havoc. Clay glanced up at the Commander as he was being given instructions.

"Sir, I’m Commander Prabhu from the Indian Army. I heard you have three injuries from your team." Commander Prabhu said as he held his hand out for a handshake.

"Yeah. They are. Went down with a house in a mudslide." Clay responded in a short, clipped tone.

The Commander stood in front of Clay. "We are read in on the op. We can take the asset back to the facility and you can remain with your team."

Clay was surprised; Commanders could be jerks at times. This was a side Clay wasn't used to seeing. He wasn't used to turning over his missions to foreign partners, but under the circumstances, he wanted to. The asset would be in reliable hands, he reminded himself.

"Havoc. This is Bravo 6. Commander Prabhu from the Indian Army is requesting to take the asset to the drop off point. Do I have clearance to release the asset into their custody?" Clay asked into his comms.

“Bravo 6, this is Havoc. Good Copy. You have permission to release the asset to Commander Prabhu.” Blackburn’s voice said over comms. “At this point, we can disguise this as a humanitarian mission.”

A sigh of relief left Clay. "Good copy, Havoc." Clay then nodded to the Commander who turned to his men and issued orders.

Clay was ready and waiting when Ray and Sonny set the rescue basket down.

"Hey Boss. Good to see you again. How're you feeling?" he asked. Jason groaned again and mumbled something.

"What was that brother?" Clay asked again.

Finally, the word escaped his lips, "Cat!"

"Cat? Oh, the cat! I don't know where it is." replied Sonny, looking down the hillside.

"Here!" Jason responded, finally getting his hands to his chest.

They finally noticed a slight movement under his tactical jacket. Once they removed the shaken cat from Jason's chest, Clay was able to see the claw marks. "She sure got you good Boss," he said.

"I'm gonna kill Brock for this," Jason replied testily. He did not know that the fate of his brothers was still uncertain as the little house once again shifted toward the bottom of the ravine.

Clay lightly dabbed at the angry red scratches on Jason's chest.

"Ouch Clay, stop that!" Jason whined through clenched teeth.

"Bossman, it's really not that bad. In a couple days you won't know anything has happened." Clay tried to reason with his team leader.

"Well Clay, it's not the extent of the injury that matters to me right, it's the circumstances." Jason said, frustrated that he was caught in a mudslide with the cat.

Clay opened his mouth to respond but his words were drowned out by the sound of creaking metal and wood. Both men looked in the direction of the sound, comprehension slowly setting in. The mangled structure had slid further down the hill.

Jason looked at Ray, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut. "Ray, where is Brock? He made it out, didn't he? He had to. He was right behind me!" He started to sit up, but Ray reached out and placed a restraining hand on his chest.

"Easy Boss. You gotta take it easy. Gettin' upset is not gonna help the situation." Ray said, trying to get his team leader to calm down.

"Ray let me go! I'm fine and the team is gonna need all the manpower they can get to help with the search." Jason's voice was eerily quiet as he spoke, but his eyes burned with a determination that surprised his 2IC.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking at the damage done.

"Trent!" Brock yelled.

"I'm okay, Brock," Trent managed between gasps, his eyes shut tight. "Jus'. . . just give me a minute."

Brock squatted down beside his injured brother, wincing at the pain it caused in his knee and left side.

"Look, Trent, I know you're not okay. Can you just tell me where the worst of the pain is?" Brock questioned.

Trent moaned, opening his eyes. "Can we get . . . get out of here?"

Brock shook his head. "I think the whole house is buried in mud. They'll have to dig us out of here."

"Oh man. I . . . I don't even have . . . any supplies." Trent complained. This mission wasn’t supposed to be difficult, so he didn’t pack any supplies on him like he normally does.

Trent gasped as he moved his ankle slightly.

Brock surveyed their surroundings in the room as more ominous creaks could be heard. The mud continued to seep in the windows. It was coming in at a slow pace, but Brock knew that besides their injuries, the mud was a real threat to them until they could get out.

The house shifted and began to slide farther down the hill. This time the men were spared the battering they received when the house first went down, but the mud oozed up more through the windows that were on the floor as it slid along.

Once the house settled again, Brock let out the breath he'd been holding.

"Trent, do you think it's safe for me to move you? I'm afraid if the house shifts much more, this cabinet thing may come down on you." Brock asked.

"Yeah . . . jus' . . . just help me . . . over." Trent said while trying to breathe through the pain.

Brock slowly stood up, masking the pain he felt with the movement. He could see Trent eyeing him carefully.

"What?" Brock looked over at him.

"Nothin'. You'd tell me if you're . . . if you were hurt, right?" Trent asked.

Walking around to help Trent, Brock sidestepped the question.

***

Clay stared as Commander Prabhu loaded the elderly man in their own transport truck and shut the doors behind him. His cat was being taken to a local vet for observation by two soldiers on the scene.

As he watched the vehicles pull away, Ray sat Jason down on the bumper of their truck.

"You were just dug out of a mudslide. You need to be checked out." Ray was saying.

"Ray, I was in an air pocket. I could breathe. I'm okay," Jason carried on, his arms waving around as he spoke. "Where is Trent? I want to discuss this with him."

Ray didn't reply. Instead he watched Clay wrapped the BP cuff around Jason's arm.

"Ray, where's Trent? He did make it up okay, didn't he?" Jason asked, not wanting to believe where this was heading.

"He's with Brock," Ray sighed. "They both went down inside the house."

For the first time since he had been pulled out of the mud, Jason was speechless. His mouth hung open in disbelief.

***

Trent eyed the towering pile of furniture with trepidation. When the house careened down the hillside, most of the massive bedroom suite had ended up in the corner where he lay, leaving the rest of the room relatively clear. Since the door that led to the hallway was now part of the ceiling, it was impossible for he and Brock to get out of the bedroom on their own. Their safest course of action was to put as much distance between themselves and teetering pile of debris as possible and wait for rescue.

The question was how were they supposed to do that? Trent knew there was no way he could climb over the mountain of wreckage. The pain in his ankle was breathtaking and it was all he could do to stay conscious. And despite his repeated claims that he was 'fine,' Brock was clearly in a great deal of pain himself. Trent seriously doubted that Brock would be able to carry him over the obstacle, but the younger man seemed determined to try.

"Brock, I don't think I can do this. You're gonna have to climb out and leave me here." Trent had to try.

"Not an option," was Brock's firm reply. "We go together, or we don't go at all. And the first thing we need to do is get you on up." Brock crouched behind Trent and grabbed the injured man under the arms. "You ready?"

"No, but let's try it anyway." Trent said through his gritted teeth.

Brock pushed himself to his feet, pulling Trent with him. He stifled a groan as the other man's weight strained his aching ribs. "Okay," he said breathlessly, "see if you can bear any weight on that ankle."

Trent gritted his teeth and tried to place the sole of his left boot gently on the flowered wallpaper that now served as the floor. His boot heel brushed lightly against the surface and it was all he could do not to scream. The pain was indescribable. If not for Brock's firm grip on his arms, Trent would have collapsed in a heap. "Oh God," he gasped, "I can't, I-I'm gonna…" The already dim room grayed before his eyes and he passed out.

"Trent?" Brock shook his brother gently. "Trent?"

Trent opened his eyes slowly. He was flat on his back again, gazing up into the worried eyes of his brother.

"Still with me?" Brock asked.

Trent nodded. "Y-yeah. Barely."

"I'm gonna try and get a look at your ankle, okay?” Brock requested, knowing it was going to hurt.

Another nod, and a strained, "Okay."

Brock dug in his pockets for his knife, crouched beside the injured man and carefully slit his muddy pant leg to the knee. He bit back a gasp as the fabric parted and the extent of Trent's injury was revealed. His left ankle was badly deformed, the foot twisted inward at nearly a 30-degree angle. The bruised tissue was swelling rapidly, bulging out over the top of his boot.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Trent asked in strained voice.

"Yeah, brother. It's bad." Was all Brock replied.

"Help me sit up." Trent asked.

Brock slid an arm around the Trent's shoulders and gently helped him into a seated position. He grabbed a couple of the quilts that had fallen out of the armoire and stuffed them behind Trent's back. "Here, lean on these."

"Thanks." Trent was pale and shaking but he managed a strained smile. "Okay, let's see what…," his voice trailed off as he got a good look at his left ankle. "Shit," he breathed after a long moment. "Oh, fuck."

"That about covers it," Brock laughed mirthlessly.

Trent leaned forward and ran his hands carefully over the deformed joint, hissing in agony despite the feather-light touch. "I don't think it's broken," he said finally, sagging back against the quilts, white faced and sweating. "I think it's dislocated."

"How can I help?" Brock asked, wanting to be able to relieve his brother’s pain.

"You got your knife, right?" Trent asked.

Brock produced his knife again. "Yeah, but what good will that do?"

"I need you to cut that boot off for me." Trent stated.

"What?!" Brock was horrified. The pain would be unimaginable. "I can't!"

"You have to, Brock. It's gonna keep swelling and the boot's gonna keep getting tighter. It could cut off the circulation to my foot." Trent explained.

"Trent, I don't know if I can." Brock shuddered at the thought. Joking about playing medic was one thing. This was something else entirely. What if he did something wrong? What if, in trying to help, he made the situation worse?

"You HAVE to," Trent insisted. "It's got to be done, Brock, and I can't do it myself."

Brock blew out a frustrated breath. "Okay, okay. I'll try."

Trent closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the pile of quilts. "You'll do fine," he said quietly. "And Brock..."

"Yeah?" Brock looked at his brother.

"I'm probably gonna scream but don't let that stop you, okay?" Trent tried to encourage him.

Brock swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. "Uh ... yeah, okay, brother." He slipped the knife blade under the edge of Trent's boot and began the slow torturous process of sawing through the thick leather.

Trent looked away as his brother went to work. He knew that his teammate didn't want to cause him more pain even though they both understood it was inevitable. Then he closed his eyes to spare his friend the added stress of being under close observation as he continued the painful process. Finally, the knife was through.

"Trent, I'm sorry. I know this is gonna be rough on you." Brock said before he got ready to continue.

"It's alright Brock. I told you it's gotta be done. Just do it fast, okay?" Trent braced himself for what he knew was coming.

Brock did as he was instructed. He wasn't prepared for the agonized scream that came from his brother. He watched helplessly as the intense pain claimed Trent and he once more slipped into oblivion.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Get some rest while you can. I hope they get us out of here soon."

He sat down slowly, took as deep a breath as his aching ribs would allow, and watched the mud continue to ooze in the windows at a slow steady pace. Then placing his head in his hands, he closed his eyes and waited.

***

Bravo team were anxious to get started on the rescue effort. Commander Prabhu had taken charge of the scene and acknowledged the seriousness of the situation. They knew the Commander had more experience in these situations than they did, but they knew they didn't have much time left before the little house would finish its slide.

"Okay. Does anyone have an idea as to where in the house they were when it started to slide?" asked Commander Prabhu.

"I was out on the porch and they left the bedroom after me. I guess they would have been in the living room," replied Jason.

"It's a fairly small house Commander. A living room, kitchen, and bathroom. I believe there was only one bedroom. It was behind the living room," added Clay. "The ‘hotel’ rooms were downstairs. Besides, the way it turned and rolled; they could be anywhere in there."

"I don't need to tell you that time is not on our side. We need to get down there and get them out fast. We also need to be prepared for the fact that they may be seriously injured or worse. I don't think I need to spell it out. Currently the house is caught on a rocky ledge, but the rate at which the mud is sliding has increased. Senior Chief Perry, I want your team up top manning the lines." Commander Prabhu stated.

"Commander Prabhu," said Ray.

Commander Prabhu held up his hand and said, "I know you want to go down and get them. You are all too close to the situation. I really feel it's best if you all work this end."

"No disrespect sir, but would you be content to work the lines if it were your family down there?" asked a frustrated Jason.

"No. I wouldn't. I know how you feel, but..." Commander Prabhu started

"C'mon Commander! Please-," pleaded a worried Sonny.

Another Indian Army vehicle arrived at that moment to provide additional manpower.

Commander Prabhu smiled and wearily shook his head. "Alright. I want you all to be extremely cautious approaching the house. Any sign of danger and you abandon the attempt. Am I understood?" He looked each man in the eyes and awaited their acknowledgement.

"Good. Let's go." Commander Prabhu stated and turned to his men to give orders.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playing the waiting game.

A slight movement under Trent's eyelids was followed by a low moan. Slowly he opened his eyes to the surroundings. As awareness returned to him a sigh of frustration escaped his lips. They were still trapped.

"Arghhh! Fuck, that hurts." Trent hissed through clenched teeth as a stab of pain coursed through his ankle.

Raising his head Trent scanned the small room. Brock was sitting on the floor near his feet, his eyes closed. Trent dropped his eyes to the source of the pain.

His ankle was propped up and a large fluffy feather pillow gently cradled it. Trent smiled slightly and wondered where in the world Brock found a pillow in all this mess.

Another wave of pain hit him, and Trent's eyes shut against it as he groaned loudly.

The sound woke Brock and he focused his attention on his wounded brother.

"Hey Trent, welcome back." Brock said as he wiped his eyes. "How ya doin’?"

"Hangin' in there, Brock. Uh, how long was I out?" Trent asked.

Brock raised his wrist and looked at his watch. "Well, looks like it's been about an hour. How are you feeling? How's the ankle?"

"It hurts pretty bad every now and again but not all the time. I'm kinda worried that the dislocation will cut the circulation to my foot though." Trent casually mentioned.

Brock looked at Trent, his lips set in a grim line. "What will need to be done if that happens?"

"You're gonna have to reduce the dislocation because I can't do it myself." Trent explained.

"Hey, look brother, taking your boot off is one thing but I'm not trained to do something like that. What if I don't do it right? You could be permanently disabled." Brock tried to reason with him.

"Brock if it comes to that, and I'm not saying that it will, I'll tell you what to do. The alternative is I will lose my foot. So, either way it could be bad but at least if we try, I have a chance." Trent waited for Brock's response as he watched his brother battle the fear that was evident in his face. 

Brock raised his eyes; his gaze locked with Trent's. "What was that joke you made about me playing medic? I think it has a whole new meaning right now."

***

Commander Prabhu had decided to send a minimum of men down until he could be sure of the ground's stability. Jason and Ray were requested to stay up and man the lines rather than go down the slope again. As much as it bothered him not to go after their own men, Jason had to admit that being up where he couldn't be buried in another mudslide sounded better and better.

Three ropes were tied off to the bumper of an Army truck. Clay and Sonny began their descent down the muddy hill. A medic from the Indian Army followed.

Almost immediately Clay felt his feet go out from underneath him as he slipped in the slimy mud, landing on his stomach. Sonny stopped his descent and went over to help his teammate get back onto his feet. The front of Clay's tactical jacket and pants were covered in mud.

"You okay, Poster Boy?" Sonny asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Clay answered, disgusted. "I wish this ground wasn't so slippery."

The three were halfway between the upper road and the house when the rain began again.

"Oh great," Sonny mumbled. "Guys, this hill may come down on us with more rain!"

Jason stood up above on the edge of the road. He watched the men below intently as they slowly made their way down the incline. Suddenly he could feel raindrops hitting him. In a matter of seconds, it was pouring rain. Damn, not again.

His attention diverted; Jason didn't notice the ground crumble underneath his feet. Dropping down on his ass, Jason slid down four feet before grabbing onto the rope he had been manning and stopping his slide.

The radio clipped to Sonny's tactical jacket squawked.

"Bravo 3, Command," Commander Prabhu's voice came over the radio.

Sonny pulled out the radio, pressing the mic button. "Go ahead Command."

"This hillside is getting more unstable with this rain. We've already had one man go down. He's okay, but I'm calling you three back till this rain lets up." Commander Prabhu relayed.

Sonny and Clay exchanged worried glances, then looked at the house down below.

"Bravo 3, did you copy? You men get back up here now. That's an order." Commander Prabhu stated.

"Copy, Command. We copy," Sonny solemnly replied. “Fuck!”

Clay stared at the house as the rain soaked the mud on and around it. He couldn't believe this. They had to get Trent and Brock out of there.

The medic tapped Clay on the shoulder. "Let's go up. We'll find a way to get them."

The three men began their climb back up the hill, their feet slipping constantly. Finally reaching the top, they were pulled to safety.

Commander Prabhu walked over to where the men of Bravo stood looking down the muddy slope at the part of the damaged house that was visible. "I'm sorry, but I didn't want to risk losing all of you in a mudslide. We'll try to figure out another way to get to your men. Or as I said before, once the rain lets up, we can give this another try."

"Commander, what if they don't have that much time?" Clay asked.

"We'll have to hope they do." The Commander stated and walked back to formulate another plan.

***

Brock shifted restlessly in a vain attempt to get comfortable. His knee was throbbing; it hurt to take a deep breath and the mud that coated him was leeching all the warmth out of his body and he was freezing. And if he was this miserable, how must Trent be feeling?

Brock rubbed his aching knee absentmindedly as he studied his brother. It didn't take a medic to see that the cold and constant pain, were taking their toll. Trent was lethargic and clearly in a tremendous amount of pain. His dislocated ankle continued to swell and was now more than twice its normal size. Large dark bruises had begun to develop, and the skin had a stretched, shiny appearance. Beneath the dark smears of mud on his face, Trent was deathly pale and his lips were compressed in a tight line.

"How you doing, brother?" Brock asked.

"I've been better." Trent said and didn't even bother to open his eyes.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Brock inquired, feeling useless.

"How long's it been since you checked my foot for a pulse?" Trent returned.

"Ten, fifteen minutes." Came Brock’s reply.

"Check it again, would ya? My toes are getting numb." Trent said, like he was talking about the weather.

"Yeah, okay." After performing half a dozen such pulse checks, Brock knew exactly where to find the veins that ran along the top of Trent's foot. And he was grateful for that fact when he saw just how swollen the foot had gotten. The veins, once prominent, were now completely obscured by the massive swelling. "I can feel it," he said after checking and then double-checking, "but it seems weaker than it was before."

"How much weaker?" Trent asked.

"A lot," Brock admitted reluctantly.

"I was afraid of that." Trent finally opened his eyes and extended a hand toward his brother. "Help me sit up. I wanna check it myself."

Brock pulled the other man up and supported him with an arm around his shoulders. "Well? What do you think?" he asked as he watched Trent cautiously palpate the top of his bloated foot.

"I think it's time for you to play medic again, Brock. I think you're gonna have to try and reduce this." Came the dreaded response from Trent.

Brock could literally feel the blood draining out of his face. He remembered how much pain he'd caused his brother just by cutting off his boot. The thought of taking hold of that horribly swollen, deformed ankle and pulling on it made him sick to his stomach. Helping Trent take vitals was one thing; this was something else entirely. The joke about playing medic didn't seem so funny anymore. "I-I… Trent, I can't…"

"You have to." Trent firmly responded.

"I can't! I'm not trained… I don't know…" Brock tried to reason with him.

"Brock, you HAVE to," Trent insisted. "The swelling is pushing the displaced bone against the blood vessels and cutting off my blood supply. Pretty soon it's gonna be cut off altogether. Believe me, nothing would make me happier than to be laying a hospital stoned out of my mind on morphine while they fix this but that's not gonna happen; at least not in time to save my foot. You have to do this."

They stared at each other for a long moment, Brock terrified, Trent just as frightened but doing his best to appear calm and confident. "Okay," Brock said finally, "Okay, I'll try. Just tell me what to do."

It took some doing, but finally things were arranged to Trent's satisfaction. He was flat on his back, "Not so far to fall when I pass out," he'd said with a grim smile, with his injured leg propped on a pile of books and other debris so that his knee was bent at a ninety-degree angle.

"I've never done this either," he admitted. "It's not something we usually do in the field. But I saw it done once during my training and I remember the doc saying it was easier with the knee bent. Something about relaxing the calf muscles. This isn't exactly the position they had that patient in but it's the best we can do under the circumstances."

"So now what?" Brock asked, trying to brace himself.

"Now you pull." Came the simple response.

"Just like that, huh?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Grab my foot with both hands and pull it toward you. Don't yank on it, just a hard, slow steady pull, okay? You should be able to feel it when the bone starts sliding into place." Trent explained, showing what the hand position should be.

"And how will I know when to stop pulling?" Brock wiped his muddy hands on his thighs nervously.

"You'll know." Trent flashed him another grim smile. "Trust me, brother, you'll know. Now I'm gonna hold onto my leg at the knee as long as I can to try and provide some traction for you, but I don't think I'm gonna last long. But you keep pulling. Even if I let go, even if I scream or faint or puke or whatever, you don't stop. No matter what, keep pulling."

Brock nodded his mouth so dry he couldn't speak.

"Okay, let's do it. Whenever you're ready." Trent replied and mentally started to prepare himself.

Brock swallowed hard, uttered a silent prayer and took hold of his brother's foot. He raised his eyes to Trent silently asking if he was ready.

Trent grabbed his leg at the knee and nodded. "Do it."

Brock pulled hard, slow and steady and Trent shrieked in agony. Brock flinched and almost let go but he remembered the medic's stern instructions. "No matter what, keep pulling." And so, he pulled, while Trent screamed and sobbed and begged him to stop. Brock nearly wept with relief when Trent mercifully lost consciousness. The injured man's body went limp and within seconds Brock felt the bones begin to slide and the ankle slipped back into place with a sickeningly loud pop. Brock grabbed the feather pillow he'd propped Trent's foot on earlier and slipped it back under the swollen extremity. Then he crawled as far away from his injured brother as he could get and quietly vomited in the corner.

It was nearly thirty minutes before Trent regained consciousness. The first thing he did was push himself up on wobbly arms and gaze down at his ankle. "You did it," he breathed in awe.

Brock was at his side in an instant. "Trent, are you all right?"

"I think so. Looks at lot better. Sure, as hell feels better. Did you check the pulse?" Trent asked.

"Yeah and it was good and strong." Brock responded.

"Great! Thanks, brother." Trent said in relief.

"Thanks?" Brock was appalled. He'd practically tortured Trent and now he was saying thank you.

"Yeah, brother. Thanks. I know how hard that must've been for you, but you probably saved my foot. I owe you a few bottles of whiskey." Trent stated, happy that he will at least keep his foot.

"Just don't ever ask me to do anything like that again and we'll call it even, okay?" Brock responded.

"It's a deal." Trent sank back in his nest of quilts and closed his eyes with a weary sigh. "So, how long was I out this time?"

"Not long. Maybe half an hour." Came the reply.

"Half an hour? Geez, how long have we been in here? Going on three hours now?" Trent tried to scrape the mud off his watch to see the time.

"About that." Brock commented.

"Well, I don't know about you but I'm ready for a bath and a hot meal with a morphine chaser and a nice warm hospital bed. How much longer do you think it's gonna be until they get us out of here?" Trent tried to keep the conversation going.

"Hard to say. The ground's unstable so it'll be slow going. But I'm sure they're working on it. Jason's probably called in reinforcements by now and I bet they're…"

Brock broke off with a gasp as the house groaned and shifted again. Thick black mud bubbled up through the broken windows beneath them and the tower of furniture at his back began to shift. He lurched to his feet and threw a shoulder against a dresser, struggling to keep it from crashing down on them. His feet, ankle deep in mud, slipped and slid beneath him and he nearly went down. Ignoring the sharp tearing sensation in his chest, he gave a mighty heave and managed to push the heavy piece of furniture away from them. It slid off its precarious perch and landed with a wet thud on the other side of the pile.

Brock sat down with a thump, wrapping his arms around his aching ribs and gasping for air. He was dimly aware of Trent calling out to him, asking if he was all right but he couldn't spare the breath to answer.

The sound of timbers breaking above them echoed like rifle fire. Both men's heads snapped up and they watched in horror as the wall split apart in one of the upper corners and mud began pouring down on them like a waterfall.

Ignoring his own pain, Brock threw himself on top of his brother, using his body to shield the man from the torrent of mud. It was instinct, really, for he was sure this was where the two men were going to die, buried alive in a tomb of mud.

But after only a couple of excruciating minutes, the deluge stopped. The two men were completely covered, and Trent, lying flat on his back, was submerged. Brock got up onto his knees and, pulling Trent by the collar of his jacket, yanked him sputtering above the mud level.

"Fuck, what was that?" Trent finally managed to get out.

Brock was taking short, gasping breaths as he studied the wall above them. "I think the weight of the mud on the interior wall there made it let go." He pushed himself off his position over Trent and sat heavily in the foot-deep mud. "But it looks like the exterior walls are holding. That musta been just what had come in through the door and windows."

By now Trent had painfully pushed himself into a seated position, too. "We don't have much time, do we?" he asked.

Brock shook his head. "No, I don't think we do," he agreed. "But in the meantime, we need to get on higher ground, so to speak. Can you get up?"

"Can you?" Trent countered.

"What?" Brock questioned.

"When were you going to tell me, you are having trouble breathing?" Trent persisted in his question.

"I'm not, Trent. I'm okay," Brock argued feebly. "It's just my ribs."

"Come here," Trent ordered.

"Now who's gonna play medic?" Brock asked to lighten the moment.

"I'm not playing, Brock. Get your ass over here." Trent said, making the come here motion with his hand.

Knowing he wouldn't win, Brock scooted over until he was sitting next to his brother. Trent unbuttoned the younger man's tactical jacket and reached inside to feel his ribs. "Tell me when this hurts," he commanded.

It didn't take long. Almost immediately Brock gasped in pain. Trent gave his brother an apologetic look, but kept going, checking each and every rib.

"Sorry 'bout that, brother," Trent apologized. "But you're not doing anything but sitting here and waiting for help, you understand?"

"Trent, don't be ridiculous. You can't walk, I'm the only one who can do anything." Brock explained.

The medic shook his head emphatically. "No, listen to me. You have at least four broken ribs, maybe more. If you keep moving around, lifting things, lifting me, one of those ribs is gonna puncture a lung, and I'm not gonna be able to do a thing to help you. You understand?"

Brock looked at his friend, stunned. Truth was, it was extremely painful to breathe, and it had been getting harder. And he trusted Trent's medical expertise without question. "Yeah, Trent, okay. I hear ya." He sat back wearily against a bookcase. "So now what do we do?" he mused aloud.

"Well," Trent said with a sigh. "I guess we wait."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then you have the eye of the storm

"Commander? I think it's letting up!" It was the fourth time in an hour that Sonny had tried to convince Commander Prabhu that the rain was subsiding enough for them to make another attempt to rescue the trapped men. Except this time, the SEAL was right.

"Okay, I think you're right." The Commander stood and addressed the men who had gathered around.

"We're gonna get this done in one shot, men," he ordered. "I don't think we'll have time for more than one. It's a miracle that house is still down there."

Commander looked at the men of Bravo, and saw them, to a man, shifting their weight from one foot to another, anxious to get going. He didn't know what to do with them. He knew how they felt, knew that they wanted to be the men to go down the hill. But he knew how reluctantly they'd obeyed his order to abandon the rescue effort last time. Would their personal involvement make them ineffective rescuers? He decided to compromise once again. He named four other men to go over the side, then looked at Bravo.

"Spenser, Quinn, you're going too. Hayes and Perry, man their lines." Ray took his assignment without complaint. The same could not be said for Jason.

"But Commander!" he started to argue.

"Look, Hayes, you've already been buried once, and gone over the edge once. You should be at the hospital. You're lucky I'm letting you stay here at all. Got it?" The Commander stated.

Jason studied the man's face for a moment, and knew he wasn't going to get anywhere. "Got it, Commander," he agreed reluctantly.

"Okay, let's get moving." Commander Prabhu said as everyone started moving.

The six men assigned to the search and rescue detail all donned their life belts and lines and prepared to make their way down to the mud-swept house, each apprehensive about what they might find down below.

***

"There, how's that?" Brock asked after tightening the last tie on the makeshift splint to Trent's ankle.

"Won't win points for style, but I think it'll work." Trent replied.

"Well, we work with what we have," Brock said with a weary grin.

Trent studied the handiwork, consisting of half a dozen soggy issues of some magazine wrapped around the back of his ankle and tied with strips of bedding.

"You'd have made a good medic," Trent told his brother. He was serious, and the younger man knew it.

"Well, thank you Trent. That's nice to hear, but I think I’ll stick to dogs." The two men settled back as best they could. 

After a moment, Trent spoke. "You know, Brock, there's something I've always wanted to ask you."

"What's that?" Brock wondered.

"How come you never speak up? We know that you can add valuable input in briefings. But you almost never do. You always let us do the talking. Why is that?" Came Trent’s question.

"I do?" Brock asked incredulously. "I wasn't even aware I was doing it."

"You do." Trent confirmed.

"Why? Does it bother you, Trent?" Brock smiled suddenly when he realized he'd done it again.

"No, Brock, no. I was just wondering why, that's all." Trent replied.

"Huh," Brock said, thinking about the question. "I suppose, maybe," he started, "it's because I don’t need to say much for Cerb to understand what I’m saying, and it transfers over to working with you. You are my brothers, so I can communicate in more ways than just words." He shrugged.

Trent tried not to show his pleasure at his brother's response, though he did shift his gaze so as not to be looking him in the eye.

Trent reached up to wipe off some mud that had dripped onto his face from above, but only served to add more, covered in the stuff as they were. Brock reached up above his head and snagged a relatively clean pillowcase. "Here," he said, tossing it to his brother.

"Thanks," Trent said as he wiped his face off. He winced when he hit the bruised side.

"You've got a hell of a shiner going there," Brock told him.

"Great. Just great." Trent leaned back again, the slight exertion having taken a toll.

"Look, Trent," Brock said once Trent was again somewhat settled. "I'm sorry about all this."

Trent shook his head. "There's nothing to be done about it now," he said. "We'll deal with it once we're out of here."

Brock nodded, not wanting to think about the consequences of his stupidity. Right now, it was enough to hope that they'd make it to the point where he'd have to face the team.

"But really, Brock," he heard his brother say. "A cat? I’m telling Cerb you went to the Dark Side."

***

With the rain still adding moisture to the already slick hill, the trek down by the six rescuers was not easy. The men fought to keep their footing as they held on to the ropes, slowly taking steps backwards toward the mud-covered house below.

Clay sighed with relief as he was one of the first ones to get to the little house.

"Trent! Brock!" Clay called out desperately. "Hey! Can you guys hear me?"

Although Clay didn't really expect to hear a reply, there was that slight hope. Sonny came down alongside him. "Well, we're here. And I don't care if it starts raining harder again or not. I'm not going back up that hill without our brothers."

"I couldn't agree with ya more, Sonny," Clay assured. "We'll get 'em."

Three of Army soldiers reached the area where Clay and Sonny stood by the house. The last one followed right behind.

"Okay, we'd better try to figure out what part of the house is what," Captain Singh said, trying to lead the rescue efforts.

Clay looked over at the soldiers from the Indian Army. "Boss said Trent and Brock were in the living room area when the house went down. But after that ride down the hill and the house has shifted some… who knows where they are now. Or what part of the house is where. It's so covered in mud."

An ominous creak within the mud-caked house caught everyone's attention.

"Wherever they are, we'd better hurry," An Army medic, Thakur, remarked. "This house is gonna break apart with much added weight and if the mud completely destroys it, well…" He trailed off seeing the pained looks on Clay and Sonny's faces.

***

Brock listened to the creaky noises in growing fear. He was about to make a comment about the noise, when he got a good look at Trent's right arm. His own pain forgotten again; he was over to Trent in an instant.

Trent groggily opened his eyes at the feeling of someone beside him. "I thought I told you to sit still, Brock."

"Never mind me. Look at your arm! How could I have forgotten about it?" Brock exclaimed, pointing at the appendage.

"Wha-?" Trent stopped when he got a glimpse of the mud and blood running together on his right arm. "Uh, Brock?"

"Yeah, brother?" Brock responded

"I think I'm in kind of a jam here." Trent stated the obvious.

"You don't say," Brock sarcastically shot back. He was aware of the dangers of infection from mud getting into an open wound. Brock tried not to sound angry, but why hadn't Trent reminded him about the injury? And why the hell hadn't he noticed how bad it had gotten, either? "Look, I gotta find something to clean that up, but everything around here is covered in mud now."

"Don' worry, Brock," Trent mumbled. "Jus' don't move around too much. I'll be okay once they get us out of here."

Once again, the house creaked around them.

Brock sat still while he tried to spot a clean piece of material anywhere. He slammed his fist into the mud in frustration. He and Trent were both not only injured, but the mud they were sitting in was cold and very wet. He also now had an excruciating pain in his already bad knee after scrambling over to Trent through the mud. Brock looked over at his brother. Trent's eyes were closed again.

***

Clay, Sonny and the others slowly made their way around the outside of the house, looking for a way in.

Clay once again called out to his missing brothers. "Trent! Brock!"

Brock's muffled voice saying "In here" could be heard outside. Clay grinned at the others standing beside him.

"They're alive!" Clay said, with a hug smile on his face.

"Or at least Brock is," Sonny added solemnly.

Clay's grin faded. Trent had to be alive in there with Brock. He had to be. He shook off the morose thought. "Hang on Brock! We're here to get you out," he shouted.

Sonny keyed the radio, "They're alive!" he reported. Relief flashed across the faces of the weary rescuers.

"I don't need to remind you that speed is essential men. But exercise caution," Commander Prabhu warned.

***

Trent slowly opened his eyes, wishing he had something to wipe the mud from them. He again tried to push himself up, but his arm gave out and he flopped back into the cold, wet ooze.

"Trent? You okay brother?" asked a concerned Brock.

"I'm fine." Was Trent’s short reply.

"Yeah, right. Now, how are you really?" Brock quipped back, not believing it for one second.

"Besides cold and wet? My arm is really hurting." Admitted Trent.

Brock knew it must be bad or Trent would have denied the pain. His worry and anxiety were growing with each passing moment. "Maybe I should take a look at it."

"Won't make much difference. We don't have anything to use for bandages. I'll be okay." Trent tried to explain.

"I don't believe you but you're right. Besides it's cold and our coats are the only things we have to keep part of us somewhat dry. I heard someone shouting outside. Hopefully that means we'll be out of here real soon." Brock reasoned.

"That's good. I'm tired of being wet and muddy. For once, I agree with Sonny on this stupid mission." Trent complained.

Brock laughed, "Me too Trent, me too." He groaned as his battered ribs reminded him he should not be laughing.

"Brock?" asked the worried medic.

"I'm okay pal. Only hurts when I laugh." Brock replied.

"Then don't!" he admonished.

The surrounding structure creaked and moaned again, and more mud rained down upon them. This time the deluge caused the pile of furniture above and beside them to come crashing down. Brock was able to duck and cover but not in time to help Trent. Trent took the full force of the falling items. He tried to protect himself from the avalanche with upraised arms. It didn't work. His right arm was not only bleeding, but he feared it might be broken now. He swallowed some mud as the weight pushed him under the muck. The coughing and choking only added to the newfound pain in his rib cage as he tried to move the items that held him down. Brock was unable to help because he, too, was trapped under the household debris. The mud continued to pour over the helpless men and the ominous creaking grew even louder. There was a sudden shift of the house and Brock feared this was the end of the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all for today! Will continue the last four chapter tomorrow for Brock's day!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally! The rescue!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the start of Brock's day!

Sonny, Clay and Thakur attempted to enter the damaged house. They were just descending through the front door that was now where the roof should have been. The house shuddered and started to slide.

"Get back up here now!" They could hear Commander Prabhu's voice on the radio. The men exchanged determined glances.

"I'm not leaving my brothers here. You can go back up if you want to, but I'm not leaving," said Clay. He looked at each man defiantly. 

"I'm staying too," said Sonny. 

"Count me in," said Thakur.

Captain Singh hesitated. His Commander had called them out, but he felt for the men of Bravo team. They were so close, yet so far. He picked up the radio, "Commander, this is Singh. We're already committed with three men inside. I'll hurry them along as best I can. I'm not a religious man, but I think it might be time to say a prayer."

There was a long silence. "Already done. Get them out of there and away from that house as soon as possible." Commander Prabhu's tone of voice left no room for further discussion. Singh knew his Commander was pissed. He also knew how he would feel if it were his friends in the house. He swore softly under his breath and shouted, "Clay! Sonny! Thakur! Commander says to hurry. If this thing lets go you're all goners. Find them and forget protocol. Just grab them and get them out."

***

Brock listened. He wanted to hear his brother cursing at the mud and the cold. But silence was all there was. After assessing his situation, Brock realized that his foot was trapped under something. Nothing new seemed to hurt, though; he was just stuck. His frustration came out in a single loud sigh. Then heard the soft moan from across the room.

Trent opened his eyes and was startled at what he saw.

He was looking up at himself. It took a few seconds for his brain to process that whatever was sitting on his right side had a mirror and he was seeing his reflection. The pain messages came in full force and low moan escaped his lips.

"Trent? Can you hear me? Answer me so I know you're okay." Brock called from across the room.

Trent turned his head toward the voice.

"Y-ye-y-uh-" Trent sputtered, but the words didn't come. He noticed the earthen taste in the back of his mouth and sighed, realizing he must have sucked in some mud. He coughed, hoping that would help clear his throat.

"Brock." Trent rasped. "I'm still here." His chest burned as he spoke. "Got something big sitting on top of me though. I think it's that old vanity that was in the corner."

"Are you hurt anywhere that you weren't before?" Brock's voice was tense with concern.

"Yeah. I think my arm that was cut might be broken, but I'm not sure since it's buried under this thing. My ribs feel like they took a pretty good shot. And I'm sure I sucked in some mud." Trent reported.

"Trent, I'm gonna work my ankle free so I can get over to ya." Brock said, trying to figure out how to get unstuck.

"Brock is your ankle hurt? Don't try and move or walk on it if it is. I'm doin' alright." Trent replied, hoping his brother wasn’t going to hurt himself to get to him.

Brock smiled. Trent's concern for him brought to mind just how much their brother cares for each man on Bravo.

"No, Trent, the ankle is fine. The mud provided plenty of cushion. It's just hung up on something." Brock replied.

"Okay, Brock, but you be careful. I don't want to be trying to put a splint on you with all this mud." Trent complained.

Brock struggled to free his foot for several minutes without success. Finally, after shoving it in just a little deeper, the appendage was released by the furniture. With a grunt he pulled his foot loose. He ran his hand over the joint, and though it was stiff, it didn't appear to be broken. Crab walking backwards, he came to the edge of the large dresser. Peeking around he could just make out the top of Trent's head.

"Hey Trent. How ya doin' so far?" Brock said, taking in a visual assessment.

"Well Brock, all things considering, I think I would rather be working an op with Beau Fuller right now." Trent commented.

***

The three rescuers were unable to find a floor to stand on since the house had rolled onto its side. They hung from their safety lines as they were slowly lowered further into the unstable structure.

"Slack! We need more slack! The wall is still about ten feet down," Clay shouted to Singh.

"Okay, but we need to hurry. It's starting to rain again. There are some really dark storm clouds up there," Captain Singh replied.

As the slack was paid out, they slipped on the mud that was oozing down the floor, which was now a wall. Progress was slow.

"Brock? Trent?" Clay called out. He thought he heard something and asked the others to be quiet. "Brock? If that's you, speak up. I can hardly hear you."

"Clay?" he heard faintly. "Is that you?"

"Yeah Brock, it's me. Sonny and Thakur, who is a Medic, are with me. We'll have you outta here real soon." Clay hesitated before continuing, "Is Trent with you? Are either of you injured?"

"He's here with me brother, and we're both hurt. Trent's not doing so good. I think you'll need a stretcher for him." Brock muffled reply came.

"What kind of injuries are we looking at Brock?" Thakur asked.

"Well, Trent's got a possible broken arm and a dislocated ankle. Some furniture landed on his chest and I think he has a concussion," answered Brock.

"And you?" asked Sonny, his voice etched with concern.

"Aside from possible broken ribs, my right shoulder and left knee hurt like crazy." Brock admitted.

Sonny picked up the radio and called Captain Singh outside the house. "Think we can get a rescue basket down here? Brock says Trent's in bad shape."

"I'd like to Clay, but I don't think we have time," his voice crackled over the radio.

***

A sudden rush of mud poured in on Brock and Trent. Brock growled in frustration while he tried to move the vanity off his trapped brother. Mud seeped down the back of his neck and dripped off his forehead. Trent got a face full of the cold, wet slime and choked some more. Brock lost his grip on the furniture when his shoulder gave out, and it returned to its resting place on Trent. The older man complained loudly.

"I'm sorry Trent. I don't think I can lift this alone. Sonny, Clay, and an Army soldier are on their way down. Hopefully they'll have us out of here soon." Brock explained, feeling horrible he couldn’t get his brother out.

"Don't take this wrong, Brock," Trent gasped. "But I can't wait to get out of here." He choked again and a moan escaped his lips when he tried to shift beneath the weight of the heavy, awkward object.

"No offense taken brother. Just try to relax," he tried to reassure the injured man.

"Clay!" he called out. "Hurry! Trent's trapped and I can't get him free." His throat was dry, and he started coughing which only made his ribs ache more.

The rescue team finally made it to the bedroom doorway. Clay peered down inside and shined his flashlight around. "Brock? Where are you?"

"Down here," he coughed again.

Clay quickly redirected his light and was shocked by the haggard appearance of his brother. "You okay?"

"Been better. Think you can get us out of here?" Brock asked hopefully.

"I'm not leaving without you," replied Clay.

"Me either," answered Sonny as his face appeared in the opening.

"Trent?" When Brock got no reply, he reached over to him. "Trent? You still with me?"

"Brock? We'll be getting you out first," shouted Clay.

"Trent needs help more than me. Take him first!" Brock shouted back.

"Can't Brock. You're going first. We'll need a bit more room to get Trent free. I'm sending a belt and rope down to you. As soon as you're ready, let me know," instructed Clay.

Brock leaned worriedly over his brother. "Trent, you take it easy, okay? They'll have you free and out of here in no time. I'll be waiting for you outside. I'd trade places with you if I could." He didn't want to leave his brother behind. Sliding back, he grabbed the belt. Once he had it on, he signaled Clay. He groaned in pain as the pulling motion made his ribs protest.

Several hands reached for him when he cleared the doorway. Sonny, overwhelmed by emotion, grabbed his brother in a bear hug. It hurt, but he felt some relief at being halfway out of this mess. However, his thoughts were still with Trent.

"I'm glad to see you too, Sonny. Get Trent," he said and groaned again as the rope attached to his belt was again slowly pulled towards freedom. Thakur helped guide the SEAL so he made it safely to the main entrance.

Clay looked intently at Sonny, "Ready?"

"More than," Sonny replied. "Let's go." He said as they lowered themselves into the bedroom.

"Trent? Where are you?" Sonny asked.

A muffled cry from below alerted them to his location. No sooner had they reached the up-ended furniture pinning him down, than another loud creaking sound was followed by more mud. Trent was spared another mouthful of the slime by the stubborn piece of furniture on top of him. Clay and Sonny shook off the onslaught and proceeded to try and lift the vanity. It was hard to hold onto.

"Clay, one of us is going to have to pull him out while the other lifts this thing. Do you want me to lift?" asked Sonny.

"No. You better pull him out. I can get better leverage from here. You'll have more room to maneuver if I stay over here." To his brother he said, "Trent, we'll have you free in no time. How're you holding up?"

"Not so good brother," he coughed again. "Just get me… out of here."

Clay's radio startled all of them. "How's it going down there Spenser?" asked Commander Prabhu.

"Brock's on his way up and we're ready to extricate Trent now." Another ominous creak filled the small house followed by more mud.

"Trent! Sonny! Look out!" shouted Clay.

Mud splashed off Sonny's head in all directions. Trent was still relatively safe where he was trapped.

"Thanks Clay," replied the still dripping fireman.

All Trent could manage was "Hurry, please."

Clay grabbed onto the vanity. He managed to move it a few inches. "How's that?"

"Can you lift it some more? We need a few more inches," shouted Sonny.

"I'll try. This thing is heavier than it looks. Slippery too." Clay readjusted his grip and pulled hard. He managed to lift it enough for Sonny to pull Trent out from under it. The creaking and groaning of the house were momentarily drowned out by Trent's cry of pain.

"I'm so sorry Trent. I'm really sorry," lamented Sonny.

"Not...your fault… Sonny. Oh fuck... that hurts!" Trent exclaimed.

"Trent?" The only response Clay got was another cry of pain. "Sonny? What's going on?"

"He's in a lot of pain Clay. I think he's going to go out on us. Throw me the belt and I'll get it on him," answered Sonny.

"Clay. How's it coming?" asked Captain Singh. "It's raining harder. We have to move, now!"

"Sonny's getting the harness on Trent now. I hate to move him without the necessary precautions, but we just don't have the time. Be ready to haul us out of here when I give the word. How's Brock?" Clay asked.

"They almost have him topside. He's in a great deal of pain, but what else can we do?" Captain Singh informed the two teammates of Bravo.

"I understand. So do Brock and Trent," Clay replied. "Sonny? Ready?"

"Let's get out of here!" he replied. He tried to support Trent as much as he could while they took up the extra slack. Clay was almost to the doorway before Sonny’s and Trent's lines started to move.

Thakur helped Clay through the door and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Clay. Head on up. I'll help Sonny," he stated.

"No! I want to stay." Clay stated.

"Clay, we will get them up. Go on. We've got them," Thakur insisted.

He hated to admit it, but Thakur was right. He grudgingly let them pull him the rest of the way up. The rain was coming down hard, but it felt good after being in the mud-filled house. He anxiously awaited while they worked on retrieving the three remaining rescuers. A glance up the hill told him Brock had made it safely to the top, and soon he, too, was topside.

Dark gray storm clouds filled the sky and he heard the distant rumble of thunder. "Hurry up. C'mon. Hurry!" he mumbled under his breath as he nervously waited outside.

Sonny held onto Trent as they started their ascent. A low moan escaped as the belt pulled up against his battered rib cage. Though barely conscious, panic and fear swept through Trent when the house shifted around them. Sonny, eyes wide with fear, shouted, "Get us out of here!"

Clay itched to get back down to the house and help bring his brothers out. Commander Prabhu and Jason held him back. He pulled away angrily and stalked off towards the truck. Ray followed and found him sitting inside.

"Clay, you alright?" he asked cautiously.

"Yeah. I just wish they were up here already. It's hard to just stand here and do nothing but watch." Clay replied with a sigh of frustration.

"Tell me about it," Ray agreed. "But they'll be okay. Why don't you go check on Brock? He's pretty worried, too."

"Thanks Ray." Clay gave him a small smile.

"I'll let you know when Sonny and Trent are free." Ray replied, heading back to the hillside to stand next to Jason.

Clay nodded and got out of the truck. He had forgotten how worried his team leader and 2IC must be. Everyone was family, their brothers.

After what seemed like an eternity, Trent and Sonny were finally to the 'front door'. Thakur pushed Sonny on ahead. "Go on. I've got him. You go ahead and get out."

Sonny hesitated but Thakur held his ground. "Go!" Sonny relented and soon found himself leaving the little house.

"Trent, we're next. You still with us?" Thakur asked.

Trent's eyes were closed tight against all the pain assaulting his senses. Another moan escaped as Thakur moved Trent in front of him. "Sorry buddy. It'll all be over soon."

"You...go...first," he murmured weakly.

"What? No way! YOU go first. I don't want any of your brothers to kill me!" he chuckled.

Trent tried to laugh and ended up coughing.

"Ready?" Thakur asked.

"No, but let's get the hell out of here." Trent said, done with this op.

Thakur pushed up on Trent as the men above pulled on his line. The pain was unbearable, and he passed out. In minutes he was pulled clear of the doorway and Thakur quickly followed.

The moment they were all free, the little house let loose and plummeted the rest of the way into the ravine.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of escaping the house.

Brock flinched as the little yellow house finally gave up its long battle and succumbed to the force of the mud flow. The roof peeled away, and the walls splintered into a thousand pieces. ‘That was too damn close,’ he thought to himself from his place on the tarp that had been spread on the ground. Brock glanced down at Sonny and Thakur who were struggling up the treacherous slope alongside the rescue basket carrying Trent. Brock watched their slow progress for a moment before reluctantly allowing another Army Medic, Jaggi, to push him back down on the tarp.

Clay grabbed a bottle of saline and a thick pile of gauze pads and knelt beside him. "Hey, Brock, how ya doing?" he asked softly as he opened Brock's tactical jacket and cut his shirt and began sponging the muck off his chest. "Just gonna clean you up here a little so we can put you on a heart monitor and put you on some oxygen."

Brock shivered under the onslaught of the cold water and tried to concentrate on the questions Clay and Jaggi were asking him, but all he could think about was Trent. He pushed himself up on his elbows and peered down the slope to try and check on his brother's progress. They were nearing the crest of the hill and Brock winced as Sonny lost his footing and nearly fell, causing the rescue basket to lurch wildly for a second. "Be careful," he called out, struggling to rise and go to his injured brother's side.

"Hold on there," Jaggi protested, gently pushing him back down. "Lie still and let us check you out."

"I'm okay," he protested, "go take care of Trent."

"We will," Clay reassured him. "But right now, we need to concentrate on you."

"I'm fine," Brock insisted, brushing Clay's hands away and trying to sit up again. "I sprained my knee; I cracked a couple of ribs. It's no big deal. Give me some Advil and tape my ribs and I'll be fine. But Trent…"

"Is in good hands," Jaggi said firmly, attaching the monitor leads to Brock's chest and flipping on the heart monitor. "And you know I can't give you any meds, not even Advil, without a proper evaluation. As for taping your ribs, well, any doctor would have my hide. You're already having some respiratory distress, the last thing you need is any pressure making it even harder to breathe. Now, just lie back and be still and let us check you out."

Brock grudgingly complied but most of his attention was concentrated on the rescue basket's slow ascent of the treacherous slope. Sonny and Thakur finally reached the top of the hill and carried their burden over to the tarp, laying Trent just a few feet away from his brother. As Clay and Jaggi worked on him, Brock was only vaguely aware of what they were doing. He flinched a bit when a needle pierced the skin at the crook of his left elbow. He was vaguely aware that the medic spent an unusual amount of time listening to his chest with a stethoscope, and then dived for the radio that connected him to the nearest hospital and began speaking rapidly. None of it really concerned him though. He was a SEAL, one of his brothers was injured, and seeing to Trent's welfare came first. His own injuries were secondary. And so, Brock focused most of his attention on Trent, mentally reviewing his condition and comparing it to how he'd looked before their rescue from the house. If anything, Trent looked worse. He appeared to be drifting in and out of consciousness. His breathing was labored and beneath the coating of mud he was deathly pale.

Brock was startled from his scrutiny of his injured brother when several pairs of hands took hold of him and gently lifted him onto a stretcher.

"Hey!" he protested. "Hold on a minute! What's going on?"

"We need to get you to the hospital right way," Jaggi told him as he tucked a blanket carefully around the brock's chest and shoulders.

"No. You send Trent first. He's hurt worse than I am." Brock told them.

Clay leaned over and began tugging the safety straps into place, securing Brock to the stretcher. "You need to go now, Brock," he said firmly. "Jaggi heard diminished breath sounds on your left side and we need to get you to the hospital as soon as possible."

"Diminished breath sounds? So what? I told you I probably cracked some ribs. It hurts to take a deep breath. Of course, my breath sounds are diminished." Brock reasoned.

"Brock, you don't understand." Clay's voice took on the soft, soothing cadence that always seemed to work wonders on reluctant hostages. Normally Brock admired it but at that moment it just annoyed him.

"No, Clay. YOU don't understand. I'm was down there with him the entire time. I was responsible for him. There's no way I'm leaving before Trent does." Brock tried to argue his point.

"Brock," Jason leaned into his field of view. "What we're trying to tell you is that we think one of your broken ribs punctured your lung and caused it to partially collapse. That's why it's hard for you to breathe. That's why he hears diminished breath sounds when he listened to your lungs. It's serious, Brock. It's not something you can mess around with. They need to take you to the hospital right now."

Brock looked to Jaggi for confirmation. Jaggi nodded. "Okay," he sighed reluctantly. "But I want Trent to be right behind me."

"We already have multiple trucks that will be taking the trip back down," Jaggi reassured him as he beckoned soldiers forward to help get Brock into a truck for the trip down.

At just that instant, Trent cried out in pain. Brock's head whipped around and he saw that Thakur was removing the strips of fabric that held the makeshift splint on Trent's ankle. The slight jostling motion had been enough to rouse the injured man. His eyes fluttered open briefly and he moaned again.

"Careful," Brock hissed irritably. "His ankle was dislocated."

"Dislocated?" Thakur glanced over in surprise. "Are you sure? It's really swollen but..."

"It was dislocated," Brock repeated firmly. Jaggi had placed an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth and Brock brushed it away in annoyance. "His foot was bent inward about thirty degrees. Trent said it was a medial dislocation. He was in a lot of pain and the swelling was cutting off his circulation, so I had to put the ankle back into place."

"No disrespect, but I kinda doubt..." Thakur started.

"I'm telling you it was dislocated! And what's more..." Brock launched into a lengthy description of Trent's injuries and how he'd attempted to treat them, breathlessly concluding with "… and I'm afraid he might have... what's the word? …aspirated? …a lot of mud when that last piece of furniture fell on him. It took me almost a minute to get his head above water and his breathing sounds a lot more congested than it did before we were rescued."

Thakur was staring at him, eyes wide with amazement. "You actually reduced his ankle dislocation? Without meds? Without anyone to pull traction. In there?!" He gestured toward the shattered remains of the house.

"I didn't have much choice," Brock replied with a shrug. "There wasn't anyone else there to do it and Trent needed my help."

"Playin' me'ic." The voice was so soft and the words so slurred that Brock almost missed the comment. 

But then it registered, and he smiled. "Hey, brother."

"Hey." Trent smiled weakly beneath the oxygen mask that covered the lower half of his face. "We got out?"

"Yeah. We got out." Brock said with a smile.

"Nice warm hos'ital bed an' dinner with a morphine chaser," Trent mumbled and his eyes drifted closed again.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Jason observed. "For both of you." He grabbed the oxygen mask Brock had pushed aside earlier and settled it back into place. "Leave that on, Brock. It's important. Now, Thakur's gonna get Trent stabilized a little better and bring him in to the hospital in a few minutes. But you're going right now. No arguments."

Brock nodded wearily. Trent was safe. He was in good hands just as Jason had said. And the adrenaline rush that had kept him going all these hours was finally wearing off. Brock was suddenly very much aware just how tired and cold he was… of how much his body ached, how hard it was getting to breathe. "Yeah, okay," he sighed. "Let's go. Stay here and take care of Trent, okay?"

He saw Jason and Jaggi exchange glances over his head. "Okay Brock." Jason gave Brock's arm a quick squeeze and went to care for his other injured brother.

"What do you need?" Jason asked Thakur upon arriving, finally, at his injured brother's side.

"Nuthin', Jason," came the response. "We've got it pretty much under control."

"He looks shocky." Jason commented.

Thakur let out a breath of laughter. "Wouldn't you be?" he asked before turning serious. "He is, a little. But the IV's helping. We're good to go as soon as the other truck gets here." As he spoke, the medic secured the last piece of tape tightly around the splint surrounding his victim's injured ankle. Trent moaned.

"Trent?" Jason asked upon hearing the noise from his teammate. "Can you hear me?"

"Mmmmmm," Trent mumbled without opening his eyes. "Cold," he whispered.

Jason looked up at the medic, and when it was apparent that Thakur hadn't heard Trent, he jumped to his feet and ran to one of the trucks. He was pulling two blankets from the vehicle when Sonny came up beside him.

"How are they?" he asked.

"Ummm," Jason hedged, unsure what to say. "Hard to tell, really. Brock might've hurt his lungs. Looks like Trent might be going in to shock."

"But," Sonny started hesitantly, "they're gonna be okay, aren't they?"

Jason paused for a second before securing the latch on the truck's compartment door. "I hope so," he said before heading off with the blankets. "I hope so."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end is near!

"Jaggi," Brock breathed out to the medic in charge of his care. "How was Trent?"

Jaggi smiled. "He'll be fine, sir. Don't worry about him now. You just worry about yourself."

"He…" Brock had to stop and breathe for a moment before he could continue. "He on the way... to... the hospital?"

The medic's brow furrowed with concern. "I'm sure he's right behind us." He clipped his stethoscope into his ears before he continued. "Is it getting harder to breathe, sir?"

"Yeah, kinda," Brock admitted. "Really hurts."

Jaggi placed the drum on his patient's chest. "Take a deep breath for me, sir," he ordered.

Brock tried, but found it utterly impossible, and downright excruciating. "I..." He tried again and failed again. "I can't," he managed to get out in a rush.

Jaggi pulled the stethoscope from his ears and picked up the radio handset that connected him to Sheri-i-Kashmir Institute of Medical Science or as everyone else calls it SKIMS. "SKIMS," he started. When he apparently got a response, he continued. "Victim is complaining of increased difficulty breathing. Breath sounds on the left are further diminished." Again, he listened, then looked at his watch. "ETA is approximately 4 minutes, SKIMS." And then, after a second, "10-4." He dropped the phone.

"Sir," he said to his patient. "I'm gonna sit you up and increase your oxygen here, that should help a little bit. You just hang in there. We're almost at the hospital."

"Can't," Brock started, suddenly frightened by his shortness of breath. "Can't breathe."

"I know, sir," the medic said. "We're almost there."

***

"Better?" Jason asked Trent as he fitted the blanket tightly around the injured man's body. Trent didn't respond at first, so Jason spoke again, more loudly. "Trent?"

"Mmmm," the suddenly roused man acknowledged. "Yeah, Boss, thanks."

"It's okay." He looked at Thakur. "Where the hell is that truck?" he asked, making no effort to hide his irritation and frustration. "Why weren't two dispatched to the scene from the get-go?"

"Calm down, sir," Commander Prabhu admonished. "I'm sure in this weather they're having some difficulty getting up the hill. We just checked. ETA is two minutes." Just as he finished speaking, the sound of the truck’s engine could be heard coming up the hill. "What did I tell you?" the medic teased.

Jason ignored him and turned his attention back to his brother. "Hang on, Trent, the truck is almost here."

"Mmmmm hmmmm," Trent agreed. Then he opened his eyes to look at his team leader. "You took care of Brock?" he asked.

"Yeah, he is riding into the village now." Jason replied, trying to reassure his brother.

"He was having a lot of trouble breathing, Jason," Trent said, sounding more lucid than he had been since arriving topside.

"I know Trent, don't worry about him. He'll be all right." Jason again, tried to reassure his medic.

"Broken ribs, Jason, lots of 'em. Was worried about a collapsed lung." Trent continued.

Jason shook his head with exasperation. "Don't worry about Brock. He's in good hands."

"But," Trent said after a second. "I couldn’t help him.”

***

The truck bearing Brock hit a pothole as it turned the corner into SKIM's Emergency entrance. It wasn't a big one; it was hardly noticed by the medic and the truck driver. The same could not be said for the victim.

"Owww, shit!" Brock exclaimed as the vehicle hit the bump. Instinctively he grabbed his left side and tried to roll onto it to relieve the sudden shot of pain.

"No, sir, don't!" Jaggi shouted, pushing the injured man back onto his back. But it was too late. The movement caused Brock to scream in pain before passing out.

"He's barely breathing," Jaggi said aloud. "Step on it!" he urged the driver.

Within seconds the truck was backed up to the ER doors. Jaggi looked up from listening to his victim's chest as the doors opened, and immediately started speaking to Dr. Konda.

"Completely absent breath sounds on the left, doc," he reported as his victim was lifted from the truck. "Heart rate is increasing, and I think I detected an aortic shift."

"Tension pneumothorax," the doctor diagnosed. "Let's move it, people!"

They didn't even bother to move Brock off the gurney he was transferred to from the truck, instead just laying him flat where he was. Dr. Konda snapped on his stethoscope and listened for about three seconds. "Karishma, I need a 16-gauge cardiac needle," he ordered.

The nurse gave him the item, and without a second of hesitation, he thrust it into the left side of Brock's chest.

The response was dramatic. Brock's heart rate started to decrease, his breathing began to improve, and the man's eyes started to flutter open.

"That's better," Dr. Konda declared. He looked at Jaggi. "If you had been any farther away, he'd have been in big trouble."

"Tell me about it," the medic agreed.

***

Jason stared at his brother, a worried look on his face.

"Trent, don't blame yourself for any of this. No one expected for the house to slide." Jason said.

"We... we knew... it was close," Trent swallowed hard. "Shoulda left... cat."

Jason sighed. "Look, that asset was worried about his cat. And to some pet owners, animals are as much a part of the family as anyone else. If we had said the cat wasn't worth rescuing... well," Jason waved his hand slightly for emphasis, "it would've been like saying that a child of his wasn't worth it."

" 'm tired," Trent responded. He just closed his eyes.

The transport truck had pulled up to a stop. Thakur and one of the drivers quickly pulled out the stretcher and brought it over near Trent.

"You ready, sir?" Thakur asked.

Jason looked up at the medic. "Yeah, let's get him out of here."

They lifted Trent onto the stretcher and secured him in place. Jason carefully draped the blanket from the truck over Trent up to his neck and tucked it around him.

"Clay, can you bring in our truck?" Ray asked. "Pretty sure I want Jason riding in with him."

"Sure, Bravo 2," Clay answered.

"Jason, why don't you get in with them," Ray said, motioning for Jason to get in the truck. "You really need to be checked out and Thakur can try to clean up those cat scratches more. Besides, I think Trent may need some humor along the way."

Jason climbed into the truck and sat on one of the benches. He looked down at Trent. All this for a damn cat.

Before Thakur could close the doors, Commander Prabhu was there. "Hayes, I'll call SKIMS later to check on your men. We'll be holding good thoughts."

"Yes, sir," Jason nodded.

Commander Prabhu stepped back and Thakur closed the door, giving it the customary two slaps.

As the Truck pulled away, Jason took his eyes off Trent and looked at Thakur. "Is Trent gonna be okay?" he quietly asked.

Thakur didn't answer. He adjusted the oxygen mask on Trent's face.

Thakur's silence didn't go unnoticed by Jason. It had to be bad if the medic wasn't talking. He looked down at Trent and couldn't get over how pale and truly awful the injured man looked.

Jason shifted in his seat and removed his tactical jacket. He was sweating now, and it was irritating his injury.

"You okay, sir?" asked Thakur when he saw the man pulling on his shirt to get it away from his chest.

"Yeah, Thakur. Just stings a little. That's all." Jason explained.

"Let me finish cleaning those scratches." He grabbed some 4 x 4's and poured antiseptic on them. Jason winced as Thakur continued. "You're probably gonna need a tetanus shot."

"Oh great! Remind me to thank Brock properly for that later." Jason stated, thinking about how many hills he was going to have to run.

"I don't think that would be a good idea for a while.” The medic smiled at the team leader.

A coughing fit halted their conversation. "Trent?" He was having a difficult time catching his breath. It was a deep, wet, rattling cough. Thakur listened to the injured man's lungs, placed his hand on Trent's forehead, and swore quietly.

"Thakur? He gonna be okay?" Jason watched the medic.

"I'm afraid he might develop pneumonia. His breathing is labored, and I think I heard rales." Thakur readjusted the oxygen mask and called SKIMS.

Jason put his hand on Trent's shoulder. "It's going to be alright Trent. Hang in there, brother." To Thakur he asked, "Aren't we there yet?"

Trent gave no indication that he heard his brother. Thakur rechecked his vitals and relayed them to SKIMS.

"10-4 SKIMS. ETA is approximately ten minutes." Thakur adjusted the flow of oxygen as ordered and sighed.

"Thakur?" Jason tried again.

"Yeah, sir?" the medic responded.

"He's going to be okay. I mean he's been through some bad stuff before and made it okay." Jason tried to rise both their spirits.

"I hope so, sir. I really do." Thakur stated.

Upon arrival at SKIMS, Trent was directed to treatment room 3 and Jason to room 5. Trent moaned in pain as he was moved quickly and none to gently from the stretcher to the gurney.

"Hey! Take it easy! He's got a broken arm, a dislocated ankle and probably a concussion," shouted Jason.

The orderlies just looked at Jason and continued their way. Jason was fuming. He was about to say something else to the two men when he was pushed into treatment room 5.

***

"Update?" Dr. Mangal asked while he began his assessment on Trent.

"Padmil. Get x-ray in here STAT. Also, I want you to draw some blood," He listed off the usual battery of blood tests. "Has he regained consciousness?" he asked Thakur.

"He's been in and out. He's in a lot of pain. They were pretty rough on him when they transferred him to the gurney." Thakur made a point of emphasizing that last fact.

Dr. Mangal listened to his patient's lungs and frowned. "I don't like the sound of this."

"His teammate said his head went under the mud and water when they were trapped in the house. I imagine he aspirated some of it."

"How long were they trapped?" Dr. Mangal asked.

"Roughly five hours," the medic replied.

The doctor continued with his exam while the young nurse took vitals, drew the required blood samples and attempted to get Trent into a hospital gown. He noted that the cut on Trent's arm was full of mud.

The radiology technician arrived with the portable x-ray unit and everyone stepped out into the hall. Jason walked out of the other treatment room at that time and joined them. He asked about Trent and Dr. Mangal replied that x-ray was with him now and they would know more once they got the films. Jason absent-mindedly rubbed his shoulder as he stared off into space.

"You okay sir?" The question startled him.

"Huh?" Jason replied.

"I asked if you were okay," Dr. Mangal repeated.

"Yeah. Just really tired." Jason stated.

"Something wrong with your arm?" the doctor asked.

"Nah. Got a tetanus shot. Fuck, those hurt! When he gets better, I'm gonna make him run hills," he complained. 

Dr. Konda walked up to the group assembled in the hallway.

"How's Brock?" asked Jason, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"Better, under the circumstances. He has a punctured lung and we had to insert a chest tube. He's breathing better." Dr. Konda explained.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone finally gets to the hospital.

Sonny opened the door and peeked into the staff lounge. There he saw Blackburn sitting by himself at the table, staring at a cup of coffee in front of him. When Blackburn didn't look over at him, Sonny, Clay and Ray each pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Where's Jason?" asked Ray.

Blackburn's eyes didn't move from staring at the cup. "He's in getting his chest x-rayed. They… ah… they needed to be sure his lungs were clear."

Ray nodded. "And Trent?"

Blackburn sat back in the chair, sighing. He looked up at the assembled Bravo team. It was then that Bravo realized just how bad things were. Blackburn's eyes said more than the Lt. Commander ever could in words.

"They're doing x-rays and blood work on Trent now. Dr. Mangal is afraid he may develop pneumonia. He's in pretty bad shape, Ray." Blackburn leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "Besides the physical injuries, he's dehydrated and borderline hypothermic."

"All that for a fucking cat." Sonny shook his head.

"Well, that's another thing," Blackburn said, rubbing his right thumb on the rim of the cup. "Brock... Brock will probably blame himself for the whole thing. I'm afraid he’s feeling responsible and it may have an effect on how quick he comes back from this physically. And wait till he hears about Trent."

"Brock?" Clay interrupted. "How is he? He didn't, Eric, tell me Brock's okay."

"He nearly died in transport." Blackburn said.

Clay's eyes widened in shock. "Wow. You know I never think about anything like that happening to our medic. It's like no matter what, he's always going to be there with us."

"Yeah, well, he almost wasn't. And if Brock finds out, he's gonna be kicking himself even more."  
Blackburn said.

Sonny was numb. He couldn't even bring himself to ask what had gone wrong with Brock.

***

It was the pain that woke him. A constant ache in his left side. Brock forced his eyes open, squinting against the glare of the too-bright fluorescent lights overhead. He rolled his head sideways on the pillow and looked around the room. He was in the emergency room at SKIMS. The hospital? What was he…? How did he…?

He had a vague recollection of not being able to breathe. But he didn't remember how he'd gotten to the hospital or how he'd ended up attached to a dizzying array of tubes and wires. There was an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, an IV in each arm, sticky patches on his chest connected him to a heart monitor, he could feel a slight burning sensation between his legs, which he knew from past experience meant that he was catheterized. But worst of all was the large plastic tube protruding from the left side of his chest and snaking down over the side of the bed where it attached to a plastic box filled with bubbling liquid. He was cold, despite the thick layer of blankets piled on top of him. His knee ached, his shoulder throbbed, his ribs ached. Hell, his whole body hurt. It was hard to breathe.

What the HELL happened?

Brock didn't realize he'd spoken out loud until a voice answered him. "You were caught in a mudslide." Dr. Konda appeared at his bedside, a sheaf of x-ray films in his hand. "You were banged up pretty badly, sir. And you gave us a bit of a scare when you first got here, but you're going to be just fine."

"A-a- mud…," he stopped and cleared his throat. "A mudslide?"

Dr. Konda nodded. "You were trapped inside a damaged house for several hours."

And the memories came flooding back. He remembered the little house slipping further and further down the slick embankment while he and Trent struggled to stay alive inside. He remembered the long hours, shivering in the cold and the wet, startling at every creak and groan of the tortured walls. He remembered Trent's injuries, remembered treating them as best he could and feeling utterly helpless.

"How-how is Trent? Where is he? Is he all right?" Brock said, trying to get comfortable.

"He's been battered around as much as you have, but he's going to be fine." Dr. Konda responded.

"Are you sure?" Brock wanted confirmation.

The doctor smiled. "He's been asking the same thing about you. Yes, he's going to be fine. You both are. But let's worry about you for right now, okay? I was just about to look at your x-rays."

"But what about his ankle? Is it... did I do anything wrong when I…" Brock stuttered.

Dr. Konda grinned and shook his head. "Soldiers. Always more worried about the other guy than you are about yourselves." He laid the x-rays aside and pulled a low stool up next to Brock's bed. "We'll talk about Trent first if it'll ease your mind. THEN we're going to concentrate on you, okay?"

“Sailors,” Brock corrected and nodded to the doctor.

"First off all, no, you didn't do anything wrong when you reduced his dislocated ankle. He's been drifting in and out of consciousness and when he's awake, he's been pretty groggy but from what we've been able to piece together, it sounds as if you probably saved his foot." Dr. Konda explained.

"So, there's no permanent damage?" Brock asked.

"Well, it is a serious injury and I have to be honest, there is a chance there'll be some lingering side effects." Dr. Konda must've seen the shock on Brock's face because he held up a placating hand and hastened to add, "But he's under the care of one of our best orthopedists we have in the hospital and he's going to undergo some pretty intensive physical therapy when you guys get home, so I really expect him to make a good recovery."

"Good enough to come back to work?" Brock wanted confirmation.

"In all likelihood, yes. It will probably take several months for him to reach that stage. But Trent's young, he's healthy… built like a tank."

Brock laughed at that. And discovered that the old saying, 'it only hurts when I laugh' was true. "Ouch," he gasped, laying a hand on his chest.

"You've got four broken ribs. And when the truck went over that pothole…." Dr. Konda started on Brock’s injuries

"Trent," Brock reminded the doctor a bit breathlessly. "We were talking about Trent."

"Okay, okay," Dr. Konda conceded with a laugh. "Other than the ankle injury, he is doing pretty well. He was a bit dehydrated and borderline hypothermic, but we got fluid into him and warmed him up. He has a mild concussion, a lot of bruising on his chest and abdomen, a badly sprained elbow…"

"It's not broken? I thought..." Brock interrupted.

"So, did we, at first, but he got lucky. No fracture. The laceration was bone deep though and full of mud so Dr. Khan, one our surgeons, is taking him to the operating room to clean the wound and stitch it in layers to try and reduce the scarring." Dr. Konda explained.

"And then?" Brock encouraged Dr. Konda.

"Then he's going to be our guest here at the hospital for a couple of days until we are sure he is stable enough to fly." Dr. Konda wrapped up.

"What about his lungs? He swallowed a lot of mud. I was afraid he inhaled some too." Brock asked.

"Based on the amount of mud he vomited on Dr. Mangal's shoes, I'd say he mostly swallowed it," Dr. Konda chuckled at that and Brock couldn't help but smile at the image. "But his lungs are congested so odds are he did inhale at least some of it. We're going to monitor that very closely, start him on some preventative antibiotics and try to hold off pneumonia."

"Can I see him?" Brock requested to see his brother.

"I'm sorry, but he's on his way to the operating room right now. But I'll make sure you see him when he comes out, all right?" Dr. Konda replied.

"Yeah, okay." Brock said, satisfied that he will see his brother in a bit.

"Good." Dr. Konda reached for the x-rays he'd laid aside earlier. "Now, are we ready to talk about YOU?"

***

"Trent?" Came a voice above him.

"Mmm? Yeah?" Trent’s groggy reply.

"We're ready to start the procedure now." The doctor prodded the medic's injured arm. "Can you feel this?"

He could, but only barely. "Sorta," he mumbled.

"Sorta? Meaning what? Do you feel pain?" the doctor asked, concerned.

"Nah, just pressure." Trent replied.

"That's good. That's what you're supposed to feel." The surgeon draped the area as he spoke. "You can sleep if you want but we'll be waking you up every now and then because of your head injury."

"My head's okay," he protested, just wanting to sleep uninterrupted.

"Sorry, but I think that's for me to decide, not you," Dr. Mangal chuckled. "First, I'm going to irrigate the wound so you might feel the cold water, but it shouldn't hurt. When it's clean we'll do the suturing. It's going to take a while because I have to close the wound layer by layer."

"Jus' get it over with," Trent muttered drowsily. "I wanna go to bed."

The doctor laughed. "Okay, let's get started."

***

Finally settled in a room, Brock was dozing when a slight commotion awakened him. It was Trent, finally out of surgery.

"How is he?" he asked the orderlies as they transferred his sleeping brother from the gurney to the bed.

"Sorry," one of them shrugged. "We just move 'em. You'll have to ask the doc. I bet someone will be by in a minute," he added as they left.

Brock tried to roll onto his side to get a better look at his brother but was pulled up short by a stabbing pain in his side. He had to settle for raising the head of the bed a scant few degrees. Trent looked better; Brock decided. Still battered, bruised and pale, but better. It was amazing what a sponge bath could do.

He was still studying the other man when the door opened again. He glanced up expecting to see a doctor or a nurse, but it was Blackburn. He entered and was soon followed by the rest of Bravo.

"Hey, Brock. How're you feeling?" Sonny asked.

"I'm okay. Glad to see everyone made it out." Brock replied.

"Us?" Sonny scoffed. "No problem. We’re fine and so's the cat."

Brock noticed a fleeting look of alarm pass across Jason's face. Brock quickly glanced at Trent.

"Jason? What's the matter? How's Trent?" Brock questioned quickly.

Startled, Jason turned his attention back to his brother. "He's okay, Brock. Or he will be."

"Good. You scared me there for a second. I thought something was wrong the way you were looking at him." Brock replied.

"No, the doc said he'll be fine as long as there aren't any complications." Blackburn reassured.

"Good," Brock repeated, and then he yawned despite his best effort to hold it in.

"We should go," Ray spoke up.

"Yeah," Clay agreed. "You need your rest. You gave us quite a scare, you know. We just wanted to check in and see if you needed anything."

"Just a good night's sleep," Brock replied.

The men shuffled through the door, mumbling their farewells.

“Jason? Got a minute?" Brock asked his team leader.

Jason turned back. "Yeah, Brock. What can I do for you?"

Brock waited until the door closed behind the other men. "What's up with Trent?"

"What do you mean?" Jason questioned.

"I saw the way you looked at him. You're worried about something." Brock said, hoping Jason would just spit it out.

"No, really. He'll be okay." Jason again reassured his brother.

"Bravo 1," Brock used his best mission tone, the one that said, 'knock it off and tell me the truth'.

Jason looked at his sleeping brother again before turning to Brock in defeat. "It's just something he was going on about at the scene. He kept saying that he couldn’t help you because of his injuries. You know how he can be."

"I shouldn’t have gone in for the cat," Brock admitted. "But he couldn't have known what was going to happen. It was just bad timing and bad luck. These things happen."

Jason allowed a small smile to cross his face. "I'm not the one who needs to hear it, Brock."

"I'll tell him," Brock promised.

Jason turned back towards the door to follow the rest of Bravo, “And Brock? When you are back up on your feet, you have so many hills to run.”

Brock just laid back and let out a slight groan in realization that his punishment was going to suck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: This girl doesn't know how to count! It's 10 chapters instead of 9.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue with all the feels!

"You go back to sleep now, Mr. Sawyer. I'll be back in a couple hours, okay?" A nurse was saying.

No, it wasn't, but there wasn't anything he could do about it, so he remained silent, only sighing loudly once the nurse was out of the room.

"Trent? You okay brother?" came a voice in the darkness. Brock.

"Mmm, just tired and they won't let me sleep." Trent was complained.

"Me neither," Brock said. "But they are just doing their job."

"You didn't hit your head too, didja Brock?" Trent questioned, because he didn’t remember Brock having a head injury.

Brock chuckled. "No, but they're not exactly quiet when they come in here, are they?"

"Oh, geez, brother, I'm sorry they’re waking you up too.” Trent sighed.

"Don't worry about it, Trent. Just go back to sleep." Brock smiled, even though Trent couldn’t see it.

The darkened room fell silent, but after a moment Brock spoke again. "Really, Trent, I'm sorry about all this."

It was Trent's turn to sigh. This was hardly the time. "It's okay. We'll talk about it in the morning. You need to rest. Hell, we both do."

"You okay, Trent?" Brock asked.

"Can't sleep on my back and I have this huge ass splint on my leg, but otherwise, I'm okay." Trent replied honestly.

"Sorry," came the timid reply.

"Enough of that," Trent ordered. "Go to sleep, Brock."

"Night, Trent," the chastened man finally said.

"Night, Brother." Trent replied, trying to get as comfy as he could.

***

At first Brock wasn't sure what had wakened him. The first light of dawn could be seen through the window by Trent's bed, but it was hardly enough to disturb him. But then he heard it. A groan and a sharp intake of breath from the other bed.

"Trent?" he questioned.

"Yeah Brock?" Brock could hear the distress in the other man's voice.

"What's the matter?" Brock wanted to know.

"Nuthin'" came the terse response.

"Trent..." It was the same voice he'd used on Jason the night before.

"I'm cold, Brock, that's all." Trent explained.

The room seemed comfortably warm to the Brock. "You having chills, Trent?"

"No. I'm just cold. And my arm hurts." Trent complained.

"Hurts how? Is it burning? Do you think it's infected? Do you think you might have a fever?" A snort of laughter stopped Brock in mid-question. "What?"

"You're playing medic again, Brother. I'm just cold. And tired. And it hurts. That's all." Trent further explained.

Brock studied his brother closely, and Trent met his level gaze. "Did you call the nurse?" he finally asked.

"Nah. It's okay. I'll be okay." Trent tried to brush off the concern.

"Uh huh," Brock said incredulously, and he made sure Trent saw him press his call button.

"Awww, Brock, why'd you do that?" Trent complained.

"I'm your brother, that's why." Came Brock’s simple explanation.

Rather than a nurse, it was Dr. Konda who answered the call. "Brock?" he queried. "What's the problem?"

"It's not me, Doc. It's Trent. He's in pain. And he's cold," he added.

Dr. Konda's mouth twitched with concern. "Trent?"

"Can you get me a blanket, doc? I'm okay. I'm just cold." Trent said, trying not to make a scene.

"You sure?" the physician asked as he approached the bed. He clipped his stethoscope into place in his ears. "Let's have a listen to your lungs. You aspirated some mud, you know."

Trent shifted uncomfortably in his bed. "My lungs are fine," he protested. "I'm just cold."

"Humor me," Dr. Konda said with a grin. Trent rolled his eyes but allowed the examination to take place.

"You still sound congested, but it doesn't sound too bad. The antibiotics must be doing their job. But we should still get a temp on you." Dr. Konda stated.

"Doc," Trent whined. "I just want a blanket. And maybe a morphine chaser." He glanced over as his brother, but Brock was too worried to appreciate the joke.

"He okay?" Brock asked.

Dr. Konda looked up from inspecting the wound on Trent's arm. "You're doing it again, Brock. He's fine. I'll be with you in a minute." He produced a thermometer from his pocket, slipped a cover on it, and deposited it in Trent's mouth without a word.

"A blanket," Trent reminded without dislodging it.

Dr. Konda smiled, and went to the closet. "You know," he said as he pulled the linens off the shelf, "I don't do this for just anyone." He unfolded the blanket and laid it across the foot of the bed. Trent tried to reach it, but failed, and shot the doctor a baleful look.

"Not until we know if you have a fever," Dr. Konda admonished. "Leave that there. Wait for the beep," he said, pointing to the thermometer, before turning his attention to Brock.

"How're the ribs?" he asked, once again putting on his stethoscope. "They hurt?"

"It's okay, as long as I don't move much," Brock allowed. "What about Trent? He told me he was in some pain."

Dr. Konda stopped what he was doing and crossed his arms reproachfully. "Stop worrying about Trent," he scolded. From the other bed a garbled "yeah" of agreement could be heard. "We're taking care of Trent. You worry about you. Now be quiet, I need to listen."

Soon enough both men had been examined. Trent had his blanket, they'd each received pain medication, and they were able to relax once more.

"You're both doing remarkably well, considering," he told the SEALs. "Keep it up and get some sleep."

"Hey, we're not the ones coming in here at 6 in the morning," Trent mumbled.

"I heard that," Dr. Konda laughed as the door was shutting behind him.

The room fell into a comfortable silence. Or so Trent thought before Brock started to speak.

"Trent," he started warily.

"Yeah, Brock," He acknowledged with a weary sigh. He knew what was coming.

"It's morning." Brock simply stated.

"Barely, Brock. But go ahead, say what you want to say. Get it off your chest." Trent knew it was coming.

Brock fidgeted nervously, emitting a slight gasp of pain as he did so.

"You okay?" Trent asked.

"Yes," Brock answered, not hiding his annoyance. "Stop worrying about me, Trent. Please."

"I can't help it, Brock. Of course, I'm gonna worry. I'm the team medic. You are all my responsibility." Trent explained.

"That's just it, Trent," Brock exclaimed. "Not this time. This... this is all my fault; my responsibility, and…" he paused for a long moment. "I don't know what to say, Trent. I was kinda outta it in the ER, but I remember some things. I heard them say you could have died."

"Do I look almost dead?" Trent retorted. "I have some broken ribs, a bum ankle, and a cut up arm. And they tell me I'll have that I’ll hopefully avoid pneumonia. I was lucky."

"Okay, but if I hadn't gone after that damn cat…" Brock still tried.

"Stop it right there, Brock," Trent ordered. He took a painful deep breath before continuing. "Look. You never should have gone back in there. We both know that, now. But I can understand why you did it. It was wrong, but sometimes we make mistakes." He carefully shifted part way onto his side in order to look at his brother directly. "And besides, I learned a thing or two during this whole experience."

"Like what?" Brock asked incredulously.

"Like you woulda made a pretty good medic," Trent said with a kind smile. "I'm willing to let this go. Are you?"

Brock was dumbfounded. He stared at his injured brother for a long moment, trying to decide if Trent was serious. He could have been written up, or worse, for what he'd done, and he knew it. "Are you serious?" he finally asked.

"Well," Trent said with a sly grin. "I'm not saying there's no hill running in your future, since you still have Jason to deal with. But yeah, I'm serious."

Brock's face broke into a wide smile. "You know," he said. "I think I'm the one who was lucky."

Trent felt his face flush red with embarrassment at the praise. "Shut up, ya idiot," he muttered. "Get some sleep. Because you still have to tell Cerberus that you got hurt going after a cat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for hanging with me the past two days while I whumped the quieter characters on SEAL team.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
